#but that’s the tragic irony isn’t it?

[b0tsbby]

More Trigun Racing AU!!! Wow!!!

Please give no welcome at all for your own safety to the elusive Racer Number 999.

The Pale White Horse. The Silver Angel. The Last Racer. Triple Nine. Maybe even Nines if you’re suicidal. This formidable legend of many names has only ever been seen once on the track 70 years ago. Was it mass hysteria? No one truly knows if he’s real. But something cleared that track in record time, and the unfortunate racers on it never lived to tell the tale…

Talking and Design Notes Under Cut as Usual

Since this is a Stampede au I! Didn’t have a lot to work with from the original content! But it’s okay cause I read Max❤️.

That said I wanted Knives to appear somewhat more uniform then Vash. It is essentially still SEEDS uniform, but I wanted it to feel somewhat at home in a racer setting, a bit more uniform to contrast everyone else who is a little wackier. So designing it close to astronaut attire felt like the way to go. A weird mix of general pro racer attire and something that feels a bit alien and unapproachable. The Onesie situation was also non negotiable. It’s in black now because I read Max❤️.

A lot my inspiration came from Knives’ edgy black Griffith suit he just fucking wore that one time (points to his helmet and the three eyes) as well as the abstract sci fi work of Range Murata.

I love the name 999 for the wordplay on Knives and Nai and Nines and Nine. It is also the last racer number. And the angel number 999 is so perfectly oxymoronic to his whole character and situation I guess it was perfect. Something about the end of everything too.

Knives in this au, like Stampede, still has an obsession with the idea of belonging and home. Where No Mans Land here is a purgatory, a criminal’s playground, Knives has a strong affinity for and desire to reach the stars. But he needs the power within both him and his brother to do that.

His car is dubbed the Ark too, it’s an extension of himself, made out of the material remains of his sisters and his own gate. It can drive on its ‘own’, but doesn’t for the purpose of winning, but rather to enact some form of judgement in one big swoop.

Not actually interested in this game Zazie has orchestrated, but the two are more so on equal footing in this setting, so Knives compromises. His car only appears twice, and he only actually races once. That one time being against his brother…for drama’s sake…

Oh also, glasses are reference to when he really fucked shit up that one time. Crazy swagger (among other things) radiating off this…

[saintobio]

sincerely yours. (12)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after. 

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+ 

tags/warnings. depression, mentions of cheating, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships, illnesses

notes. 11k wc. finally. i wrote this with only one eye open so please don't mind the inconsistencies, i'm trying my best to tie any loose ends before we reach the ending. if the writing feels rushed, it’s bcos i’m just ready to wrap up this series 😭

series masterlist -> episode thirteen

You thought everything that had happened last night was just a dream. 

Because you had gotten used to the constant disappointments and vicissitudes of your life, sharing such domestic bliss with the person you loved had started to feel far-fetched for you. It had become an unachievable fantasy, a colorful delusion created by your mind to conceal the actual darkness of pain that surrounded it. 

But as you opened your eyes that morning, the familiar warmth of a sleeping Satoru’s embrace was the reality you never saw coming. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the comfort of his arms around you, it all felt surreal—like a fragile dream teetering on the edge of shattering. You wondered if it would be okay to stay here for now. To forget about the rest of the damn world and remain in his arms, staring at his beautiful saintly face, listening to his slow and steady heartbeat.

When Satoru stirred from his sleep, you knew your daydream was over. But he was pulling you dangerously close with arms wrapped around your frame and his lips pressed against your forehead. He was only half-awake, it seemed. His long white lashes reminded you of Sachiro’s as you watched him mumble incoherent words from his sleep, something along the lines of, ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Akemi’. 

That was your cue to pull yourself away from him. With guilt now coursing through your body, you sat up from bed and covered your naked body with the duvet. Akemi. You had completely abandoned the thought of Akemi last night, and now you were here in bed with ‘supposedly’ her man. As much as your heart was in bliss from last night’s events, the dark and cold reality was that you slept with a man who wasn’t yours. It was a principle you told yourself you would never cross, but everything concerning Satoru Gojou seemed to be bringing you to that. 

“Satoru, hey.” Your voice almost came out as a plea as you shook his arm, your guilt eating at you with every minute that passed. “Wake up.” 

His eyelashes fluttered as he struggled to open his eyes, blinded by the sunlight that gleamed through the window as he stretched his arms and looked at you. “Y/N?” he softly whispered, a hand tenderly placed on your back as he scooted closer. “What’s wrong?” 

Slight disbelief blanketed your gaze. “You think this isn’t wrong?” 

Satoru let out a sigh of exasperation, pulling his head back, and covering his eyes with a hand as if last night’s events played through his mind scene to scene. He was obviously caught in a mindwreck thinking about the girl he had just cheated on. “It shouldn’t be,” he mumbled, “But it feels like it.”

“So you do regret it,” you laughed at your own words, internally in pain. 

“I didn’t say that.” He finally pulled himself back up, sitting as he pulled you towards him. “Y/N, if we really thought last night was wrong, we would have stopped after the first time.” He shook his head at the irony. “Look, it’s on me, alright? I put you in this situation.” 

“And I allowed it,” you argued, “I allowed it, Satoru. It makes me feel dirty. I feel like, like I’m wrecking someone else’s home. It’s not me.” 

Satoru held his breath, a look of hesitation dawning on his face as he realized that this wasn’t just a dream of his. It was pure and raw reality that he had made a mistake that he could never undo. While thinking it through, he rubbed his eyes and sat up, leaning against the headboard as he assessed the situation. Then, he looked at you, his expression softening as he spoke, “No, not your fault. It’s just complicated,” he insisted, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who owes ‘Kemi an apology.” 

Each time you heard her nickname from him was a punch to your gut. And each silent cuss that left his lips was an arrow to your heart. So you put it on yourself to accept his reaction. “It’s okay. You can be honest and say last night was a mistake.”

“No, no, no. I didn’t say that,” he replied quickly, reaching out to take your hand. 

But you already stood up from the bed, clutching the duvet around your body like a shield against the encroaching chill. Your throat felt tight, and tears threatened to spill, but you fought to keep them at bay. Satoru’s gaze followed you with an expression of helplessness, as if he was struggling to bridge the gap between his rights and wrongs.

As you turned to face him, a knot of frustration and heartache tangled within you. “So, what now?” you asked, trying your hardest to keep your composure. “How are we gonna fix this, Satoru? How?”

Before he could answer, the door to the cabin suddenly burst open, and Akemi stood in the doorway with her eyes wide with shock and fury. The confrontation followed as soon as she caught you in a compromising position with Satoru, and the words she uttered next were ones you least expected from her. 

“You’re a hypocrite! You’ve become the person you despised the most when you were married.” 

“You’re no better than Sera! And that’s why you’re miserable, and you’ll forever be miserable! If this is your way of getting back at me..” 

“Then jokes on you, because Satoru will never be faithful to you. He’ll keep cheating on you, just like he did now with me! You two belong in that cycle!”

You felt like an outsider in your own heartbreak, the confrontation intensifying as you tried to process the bitter truth in silence. All you could do was stand there and cry. Even Satoru’s attempts to placate Akemi were futile as her anger only seemed to grow. The more her eyes danced back and forth between you and her lover, the more she wanted to destroy everything in her path.

Satoru’s face was indiscernible from where you stood. “Akemi, please, just listen—”

Akemi, however, was already turning on her heel and storming back into her cabin while eliciting loud, muffled sobs. Your chest tightened with sorrow and shame. Complete, utter shame of doing this to another woman. How could you even correct a situation like this? How could you pick yourself back up after you just trampled on another woman’s feelings because of your actions?

Satoru, like you, hesitated on his next move, his eyes meeting yours with a look of anguish. “I need to talk to her, Y/N. I’ll be back.”

Without waiting for your response, he already bolted after her, leaving you alone in a quiet, pathetic state. The door slammed behind him, the sound reverberating through the cabin like thunder in a heavy storm.

You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to face everyone, didn’t have the guts to even talk to Shoko and Suguru who now both have to deal with such scandals. You were too ashamed of yourself, as if your femininity had been stripped off its rights after you slept with the man you swore you would never get back with. 

“I didn’t mean it,” you could only silently whisper your laments, pacing around your cabin while swallowing the weakness that tried to escape. “I hate this.” 

The minutes dragged on, and each second stretched into an eternity as you waited for Satoru’s return. For now, you sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, wondering what excuse he was telling Akemi, and what actions he would do to try and calm her down. Did he kiss her, perhaps? Did he cup her face and tell her that you were nothing but a mistake? What was taking him so long? Or were they doing things to try and erase the same deeds you two did last night? 

The cacophony of voices and commotion from outside the cabin grew louder, and your curiosity led you to open your door, meeting the eyes of one of the hotel staff who sent you a look full of judgment. 

“Where’s…” you hesitated if she was the right person to ask, “Where’s Satoru? Would you know?” 

“Oh, ma’am. He already left the hotel half an hour ago… with Miss Akemi.” 

Her answer hit you hard like a truck on a highway. And your heart dropped as you realized who became The Fool in these deck of cards. Satoru had not only run off after Akemi, but had also left you behind without a word. 

The room felt colder now, the once-intimate sanctuary you shared with your ex-husband now a prison of your own grief. Even the familiar warmth of the bed seemed like a distant memory as you approached it, your body trembling as you thought of how you were treated like a dirty rag, thrown away after being used over and over again. 

With a soft, choked sob, you collapsed onto the bed, the duvet still a tangled mess from earlier. And your emotions, so tightly restrained, finally broke free. You pulled the blanket around you as if it could shield you from the crushing pain. The betrayal, the sense of being discarded for another—it all converged into a torrent of anguish. All you could do was cling to the duvet as if it were the only anchor in a stormy sea. 

——

Returning home didn’t make the situation any better. 

Although you tried to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be waiting on Satoru to contact you, you still found yourself checking your phone multiple times a day. Each second that passed without hearing from him was another stab to your heart. But it shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t, not when Satoru clearly made his choice of choosing yet another woman over you. 

Of course, you knew what you did was wrong. In everyone’s eyes, sleeping with someone else’s man was unforgivable. There was no excuse, no way to justify your actions. Even if some people might side with you, saying you owed no one loyalty, it didn’t change how you felt about the whole situation. And that was because you remembered all too well the pain of being cheated on, and letting another woman endure the same heartbreak and betrayal was a weight on your conscience that you couldn’t ignore.

Sighing, you turned to the left side of the bed and saw Sachiro sleeping peacefully, clutching his favorite starfish plushie in his tiny arms. The thought of losing your son was unbearable, especially when he was your only source of calm amid the chaos that surrounded you. Caring for him was your solace, and his innocent presence served as a band-aid for your wounded heart. The most heart-wrenching part of this was knowing you couldn’t even repay him for the stability he brought you. Sachiro deserved a complete family to enrich his life, yet you—as his own biological mother—were unable to give him that. 

“Sleep tight, Sachi.” You lightly stroked his white hair before planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

The past few weeks had been a blur of emotions, work, and parenting—with each day blending into the next like a tornado of dull colors. You still hadn’t heard from Satoru, but the days of waiting and checking your phone for any notification from him did gradually stop. The only thing that didn’t stop replaying in your head like a broken record was the cabin incident, the very night that drew all these overthinking in your mind and in your heart. 

Returning to work did provide some distraction, but it didn’t take away the sting. It also didn’t help that your staff noticed the change in your demeanor, and how distracted you often were during your meetings and warehouse visits. Even Nobara was worried about how absentminded you had become, but you brushed off all their concerns with a forced smile. After all, staying at home would do you worse than being at work. 

Now, you were back in your office, and the soft knock on the door cut you off from your trance. It was Yuki peeking through the small opening on your door, her usual professional demeanor softened by a concerned expression. “Hey, Y/N. Do you have a minute?” she asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind her with a quiet click. 

You nodded, trying to muster a smile. “Sure, Yuki. What’s up?”

“I wanted to check in on you,” she began, taking a seat opposite your desk, “If you need to extend your vacation, please, by all means, go ahead. It’s off-season, anyway. I’ll take care of everything here while you’re focusing on yourself.”

That wasn’t really a good idea. And you shouldn’t be slacking off work when this very fashion house you establish used to be your passion, not your job. Yet here you were, losing all the inspiration to even run a business. “I don’t know if I have the energy for anything else right now.”

“Well, if you’re too worried about leaving work,” Yuki continued, her tone shifting to a more business-like note, “the progress we’ve made with Hearte is looking really promising. The new collection is getting great feedback, and our upcoming showcase is shaping up well. We’re on track for a strong quarter.”

“All because of you, Yuki.” A spark of gratitude appeared on your face. “Thanks for the update. It’s good to know things are moving in the right direction.”

She then stood up and gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m here if you need anything, Y/N. But seriously, take some time for yourself. You deserve it.”

On that same evening, you came home to your father’s mansion, and the first thing that greeted you when you entered the foyer was Gen sitting by the living room. And needless to say, her expression was a mix of concern and frustration as if she had been waiting for you to return. You weren’t really in the mood to have some back-and-forths with her, but you also didn’t like how she dropped her phone on the table and crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing at you like she was a mother who could scold you like a child.

“I’m not even gonna say anything at this point, but did you really do it with him?” Gen’s voice was low, but the disappointment was palpable. You could feel it from a few meters away. 

“What are you talking about?” you bit back, your already-terrible mood swings shifting into an unhealthy direction. 

Gen responded by pointing at her phone, gesturing for you to take a look at whatever’s on it. Reluctantly, you grabbed the device, and as you were scrolling through the screen, you stumbled upon a blind item circulating on social media. The words were vague but pointed, hinting at a scandalous encounter between two ex-spouses, both of whom were well-known figures. Great. Your heart stopped as you realized that the article was very much about you and Gojou. 

The online comments were brutal, not like you weren’t used to anonymous harassment anyway, but these ones were full of speculating and judging without knowing the full story. Everyone also seemed to be siding with “Ms. A” instead of you as though the person behind the article was clearly trying to paint you as the villain. It was written for the purpose of destroying your reputation rather than any regular exposé, and whoever wrote it was definitely someone who disliked you. 

Your shoulders slumped as you scrolled through hate comment after hate comment, a seemingly endless vitriol for someone they didn’t even know, and avoided your sister’s gaze knowing full well that seeing her expression would only make you feel worse. 

“Is it true?” your sister asked like there was even an ounce of chance that it was simply a rumor. Unfortunately, it was anything but. 

Sliding her phone back on the coffee table, you drew in a deep breath. “I can’t undo it, Gen. It happened.” 

“So, you did sleep with him? Am I hearing this right?” Gen sighed, rubbing her temples. “Do you have any idea what this could do to you? To Sachiro? People are ruthless, and now this blind item is all over the place and they’re targeting you like a punching bag!”

Your mouth felt heavy, as if it was weighed down by an invisible burden, making it difficult to form words or speak. And before you could think of a response, Ian became your temporary savior as he walked in with a calm but serious mien. “I’ve seen the post,” he said, holding up his phone. “It’s clearly defamatory, and we can take legal action. I’ll handle it.”

Even though Ian was a man of remarkable phlegm, you remained abashed, knowing that everyone’s feasting at the juicy rumor that you slept with your ex-husband. Yet, the only thing you could do was to put on a front. To save face. To act like someone you’re not. “Thank you, Ian. I’d appreciate that.”

Anticipating another lecture from Gen about Satoru, you began retreating to your room with your footsteps bouncing desperately on the grand staircase. This conversation was done. You just weren’t there to hear it anymore. However, as you climbed the stairs with a vacant mind, you could still hear your sister calling out to you.

“Y/N!” she called, her voice now tinged with concern. “I’m not going to give you a hard time. We can sort this issue out. Maturely.”

“I’m good.” Sorry, Gen. It was the anxious-avoidant side of you speaking. You didn’t want to discuss such a sensitive situation to anyone, even with your sister, because you weren’t ready to face all the negativity it would put you through. You were already dealing with enough, and going through yet another emotional turmoil might actually put you to your deathbed at this point. 

So, for now, isolating yourself from the world was the best choice. 

And as soon as you entered your room, you saw Sachiro’s nanny tucking him into bed. All your worries and self-destructive thoughts vanished in an instant the moment you looked at your son. It was like the heavens gave you your personal angel, a cute little cherub who brought nothing but light and happiness to your life. He was your sunshine, your shooting star, your bundle of joy. Nothing in this world could erase the pessimist in you than little Sachiro. 

“I got it from here.” You thanked the nanny and asked her to close the door before quickly joining your son in bed, wrapping him in a warm, comforting hug—more for your own comfort than his.

“Mama?” he asked, his voice unusually raspy, and his chest rising and falling heavily. “I mwiss you, mama!”

You pressed your lips onto his forehead. “I miss you too, my baby. How was daycare today?”

He seemed to struggle to speak too, but Sachiro still did his best to recount his day while he was trying to catch air in between his sentences. “Teacher ask Sachi to go home, mama. Sachi is tired.”

“Baby, are you okay? Are you sick?” Now, your motherly instincts kicked in immediately. You could tell something was wrong, so you reached for a thermometer from the bedside drawer to check his temperature, and listened to his breathing at the same time. “What happened to Sachi? Do you want Mommy to take you to the hospital?”

Sachiro shook his head and gave you a sleepy smile. “No, mama. Sachi is just sweepy.”

When the thermometer beeped, you were relieved to see that his temperature was normal. “Are you having trouble breathing, my sweetheart?” You looked into his droopy eyes and gently placed your hand on his chest. 

Once again, Sachiro shook his head. Maybe you were just overthinking. He often ran around the house or played in the bathtub before bed, which could explain why he seemed out of breath. It wasn’t the first time it happened. 

“Okay, Sachi. Go to sleep now. Close your eyes, baby.”

“Night night, mama.”

For now, you turned off the night lamp, and headed to the bathroom in silent and careful steps. It was quiet enough indeed, but in your head was an awful noise you couldn’t escape. And stepping into the shower only increased the warfare in your mind, as it immediately brought images of Satoru and Akemi back in the cabin, the harsh comments from the article, and the lack of contact from your ex-husband which all overwhelmed you at once. By now, he would have already seen that article. Nanami or Miwa might have already alerted him about it. But the fact that he said nothing, the fact that he let the public scrutinize you, destroy you with such vile, hurtful words behind their screens brought you a kind of pain that you wouldn’t wish upon anyone else. 

Because if it was Akemi in that position, he would have defended her in a heartbeat. 

So in your silence, under the cascading water of the shower, you let the tears flow—its warmth distinguishable compared to the cold droplets falling on you. If only you had successfully drowned yourself that night at the lake. If only Satoru didn’t pull you back in, none of this would have happened. 

That moment was deeply poignant to you, and you saw him in a new light you thought you would never see again because of the darkness of your past. Yet, with the events that followed your special moment, memories eventually turned into spite. Your sweet exchange twisted into something bitter. Looking back at that time when he kissed you at the lake now made you feel nauseous and hollow inside, with bile forming on your throat and threatening to be retched. 

The most gut-wrenching part about this was the fact that there wasn’t anyone left who could rescue you from this abyss of heartache anymore. 

——

There had been a sense of detachment in your emotions in the following days that passed, almost as though they belonged to a stranger inhabiting your body. Toji, the only person who comforted you at times like these, was no longer by your side to fulfill the warmth you once desperately sought, and now you were alone to face this cruel, mind-numbing battle all by yourself. It was you against the world. You against the entire populace inhabiting this living hell. And with that many enemies against one, how could you win? 

It was quite funny, actually, that your humor took a surprising turn when you thought of how Sera must have felt when it was revealed to the public that she was Satoru’s mistress. The irony didn’t even stop at your thoughts alone, it manifested itself outside Hearte’s headquarters, wearing a pink puffer jacket and a white prairie skirt. 

“Sera?” you blurted out her name in wonder, nonplussed as you got out of the car to approach her.

“Hey, Y/N.” She offered a casual smile while carrying an air of sophistication around her. That wasn’t the only thing that changed about Sera. Her hair was also shorter than the last you saw her, her face now sporting a more natural makeup, and her outfit a more modest yet classy choice. It was no longer the Sera who tried hard to fit in amongst the upper echelon of society, but a Sera who seemed to be satisfied at her current standing in life. 

What an awkward encounter. Was her presence your hypocritical reminder for sleeping with Satoru behind Akemi’s back? 

“What are you doing here?” you asked. 

And she answered with, “I read about what happened. You know, the thing on the internet.” She took a moment to pause, probably trying to choose the right words to say to her previous adversary. Because in a way, you two weren’t exactly friends. And you were no longer rivals either. Satoru was the only common denominator here, and Sera proved her exact sentiments about him by saying, “I just wanted to let you know that I understand your side. It’s a tough situation.”

You looked at her, searching for any hint of insincerity, but found none. “You were once on my spot,” you pointed out and gauged whether or not she would take the bait. For all you know, she could be putting on an act. “I’m assuming you’re here to rub it in my face how much of a hypocrite I am.” 

“No, that’s not it.” Sera was vehemently denying any malice on her intentions, and was instead trying to show you the sympathy of a woman who was once caught in the same predicament. “Look, I know it’s weird that I’m here out of all people. But the truth is, I just had to let you know that someone’s on your side. I’ve met the girl, okay? That… whoever she is. I don’t remember her name, and I hate having to pit two women against each other, but I’m telling you it’s about time you cut Satoru off your life. Completely. She doesn’t look like someone who’d easily let go. You’re just gonna suffer, Y/N.” 

Perhaps three years was too far back in your life and that tables could turn in a direction that you didn’t expect, as you could recall fragments of memories from when your only dilemma was dealing with Satoru and Sera in your marriage. She used to be besotted with your ex-husband back then. But now, it wasn’t until you heard the way she spoke about him that you realized she must be harboring a grudge deeper than you had imagined. After all, he did ruin her life in ways you couldn’t imagine. And her advice, though unsolicited, made sense. Because you could understand where she was going with it. You could see the true intentions clearly conveyed by her face.

The only problem here was that you didn’t have it in your heart to agree with her. You were too much of an empathic person to be taking sides, even if the supposed villain in this painting was the ex-husband who, time and time again, hurt you. Your heart stubbornly cared for Satoru deep down, and your wifely instinct of defending him no matter how poorly he acted had always been there. No one could hate Satoru more than you did, that was true, but you also weren’t very accepting of hearing others describe him as this ruthless, cheating bastard. 

That was the reason why talking to Gen had eventually exhausted you. Because no one knew the real Satoru Gojou behind his facade of an irresponsible and reckless husband. 

“Now that you’re here…” The idea to redirect the conversation to another topic struck you, unwilling to engage in a conversation that pushed Satoru in a bad light. “Would you be interested in being a model for our upcoming campaign? We’re launching a new collection, and I think you’d be perfect.”

Sera’s eyes were an amalgam of confusion and surprise. “Uh, I mean… I’d love to, but why so sudden?” 

“You have the face for it.” You shrugged, but still sent a smile her way. “Are you working right now? If not, this could open doors for you to be discovered by modeling agencies. I’m closely tied with them since I work in the fashion industry, so I can do a few calls if you want.” 

“Hold on, I’m—” Sera touched her head, laughing as if she were dreaming this conversation. “Y/N, you’re doing too much here. I mean, I’d obviously love that, but wouldn’t it be awkward? People know me as your ex-husband’s mistress, and if they recognize me in Hearte ads, I’m sure as hell those fuck ass netizens won’t stop talking about it.”

She had a point, a very good point, but then again, your suggestion was only brought up because you had to change the topic. “Well, it’s just an offer to consider in the future.” 

“And I appreciate you always extending a hand to help me even if I did you wrong in the past,” she said, feelings of shame lacing her voice. “I haven’t forgotten about what you did for my brother, that’s why I’m here. I’m not your enemy anymore, Y/N.”

Just then, the roaring engine of a classic red Ferrari pulled up to the curb, interrupting the unexpected conversation you were having with your ex-husband’s former mistress. The window rolled down to reveal a pink-haired man whom you recognized as Ryomen Sukuna, an up and coming tech mogul, that Toji had mentioned about many times before. His eyes were only on one woman alone, and it wasn’t you. “Ready to go, babe?”

Honestly, good for Sera. No wonder her aura had become different. They seemed to be in a stable committed relationship, something that you could only ever dream about. If karma was truly real, this was the perfect example for it. 

In the back seat, you spotted a younger boy who looked exactly like Sukuna and, surprisingly, Megumi, the son of your ex-fiancé. Really? How many more people were you going to ‘coincidentally’ run into today? 

“Hello, miss!” the other boy called out cheerfully, while Megumi offered a polite nod. You replied with a wave, feeling a small sense of normalcy in their innocent presence.

“I gotta get going, Y/N,” excused Sera, gesturing a civil goodbye. 

But as she moved to get into the car, your phone buzzed in your pocket. A single glance at the screen made your heart drop. It was a call from the hospital.

“Hello?” you answered almost immediately, pressing the phone on your ears with a tight push.

“Ms. Y/N, this is the hospital. Your son, Sachiro Gojou, is in the ICU. We need you to come as soon as possible.”

Your stomach contracted into a tight ball as you stood rigid with terror. Then and there, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. “Wh-What do you mean he’s in the hospital?!” you managed to shout, swept by horripilation from the sudden news. “What happened to my son?! What’s—!” 

Sera’s concerned gaze met yours as you desperately yelled into the phone, hyperventilating. Your trembling hand was threatening to drop the phone. “Y/N, is everything okay?”

“My son… I… he…,” you stammered, your voice shaky with fear and urgency. Your muscles locked in a momentary paralysis, eyes wide with astonishment, and surprise rendering you immobile. The thought of Sachiro in a critical state was about to make you faint, with the last bits of images you saw that afternoon were of Sera and her boyfriend rushing to catch you from completely falling to the ground. 

——

Megumi didn’t know how to deliver the bad news. 

He came home after Yuuji’s brother rushed you to the hospital, shocked by everything that happened in a span of a single day. His mind was aching from all the thinking he was doing; praying that little Sachiro will be fine, hoping that you would stay strong throughout, and lastly, wondering how he would break it to his dad that something terrible had happened. 

His father wasn’t exactly the greatest man to tread this Earth, especially not after the drunken words he had ‘mistakenly’ uttered to you that night in Miami that resulted in your separation. Yes, Megumi knew every word and detail. His father told him everything just as a sober man would. Did you really think that the Toji Zen’in you knew would sputter that utter nonsense to you? That you had an empty soul. That he couldn’t be with someone like you. That you would forever be a placeholder to Megumi’s mother. Bullshit. None of those were true. His father told him that the reason he had to say those words, as piercing and trenchant as they may be, was because it was the only way he could free you from being caged in a relationship your heart didn’t genuinely want. 

It was Toji’s last resort to hurt you with his words, hoping that you would wake up from your false fantasy and finally have a reason to leave a relationship with a man that wasn’t Satoru Gojou. If Megumi’s father wasn’t at the top of the list of Forbes’ richest men in Japan, he would have felt a great deal of inferiority complex over a younger man like Gojou. Not because of his looks and his riches, but because he had you. No matter what Satoru did, no matter how many times he hurt you, he was and would always be that man you wanted to be with. 

Sighing, Megumi’s first task upon coming home was to check on his father’s room, only to find the dark room void of its owner. When he made his way down the grand staircase, he met an ill-spirited Naoya who was ranting to Mai about Sera flaunting Sukuna in front of his face. Megumi’s sigh was then followed by another. The drama in this house was relentless. He felt like he was exhaling endlessly, like a malfunctioning appliance. 

“Where’s dad?” asked Megumi, directing her question to a more rational Maki. 

The tall, green-haired girl gave him a knowing shrug. “You already know,” she said, “Drowning himself in alcohol down at the bar.” 

As always. 

Megumi jogged around the estate to eventually find his father at one of the wet bars near his home office. He was there, seated on a stool, his head drooping low with a glass of premium scotch in hand. How many glasses he’d had, Megumi could only hope the numbers weren't that high. But upon approaching his father, his presence was barely acknowledged as he sat on the stool next to him, suggesting that the grown man might be more inebriated than his son had expected.

“Dad,” spoke the Zen’in heir, “Dad, you good?” 

Toji lifted his head up, three sheets to the wind, as a smile crept up on his scarred lips. “Son.” 

“Let me take that.” Megumi grabbed a hold of the glass of scotch, sliding the strong liquor away from his father. “There’s something I ought to tell you.” 

Toji stayed nonchalant, sitting upright and tapping his fingers on the counter. “What’s it about this time?” he asked. “I’ve told you, I can’t stop the elders from arranging your marriage unless you’re honest with me about someone you like. I know you have someone in mind, but you’re not saying who. Are you just shy?”

Megumi gave his father a look of exasperation. He’s rambling, he thought, frustrated with his father’s inebriated chattering. “It’s not about that. It’s about Y/N-san.”

The mention of your name was the only thing that made Toji's demeanor shift to one of genuine concern. “What happened?”

“Sachi’s in a critical condition,” the younger Zen’in went straight to the point, “Y/N-san went manic over it and fainted before we could get her to the hospital.”

Toji was quick to grab his coat and car keys, as if all the alcohol in his system had immediately evaporated. But before he could leave, Megumi caught his father’s arm and pulled him back. 

“What?” said Toji, concern and urgency blanketing his gaze. “I need to be with her.” 

“Do you really need to?” Megumi countered. “Dad, I know it’s not right for me to stop you in this crucial situation, but are you gonna do this every time she’s in trouble? Do you plan to do this forever? Do you plan to keep drowning yourself in alcohol thinking about her? We care for her like family, that’s true, but you and her aren’t a thing anymore. Your responsibilities in taking care of her should stop, too. You, yourself, said it’d be best if she stopped being reliant on you. Now, do yourself a favor and stop trying to be this pathetic superhero.” 

The concern etching on Tojis’s face softened into a sense of realization, a sense of candidness that only someone as straightforward as his own son could evoke. Megumi had to, not because he didn’t care for you anymore, but because he had to ensure he wouldn’t lose his father over a relationship that had already ended. Toji was the only real family Megumi had left. 

“Stay, dad,” he pleaded, “Please.”

Toji took a deep breath and released it in the same second. “Okay,” he softly said, ruffling his son’s hair. “I won’t leave.” 

——

Why is it that you keep attracting things, places, and people that you disliked the most? 

You hated hospitals, and you had spoken about it enough to make it clear how much you dreaded going to a place where your worst memories had taken root. Yet, the sterile environment seemed to beckon you, dragging you back with a new nightmare each time. It was beyond your worst fears that you would find yourself racing through the halls mere minutes after regaining consciousness, desperately trying to reach where your son was.

Please be okay. Please be okay. 

Frantically, you scanned the corridors, searching for the ICU and hoping that what you had just heard was nothing more than a cruel illusion, that this was all just a nightmare. You weren’t a deeply devout person, but you did send prayers to every saint you could think of, hoping that Sachiro’s current state wasn’t in the median between life and death. 

Because if you lost your son, then there was no point in living anymore. This life wouldn’t be worth enduring. 

“Y/N!”

You weren’t the first one to arrive outside the pediatric ICU, with Gen and your father already being there moments before you came. You were struggling to breathe by the time you reached them, feeling your heart race with a thunderous beat. “Gen… Dad, what h-happened to him?” You couldn’t stop the weakness in your voice. “Tell me he’s fine, please. Please. My baby. If anything h-happens to him, I’m g-gonna die, Gen! I c-can’t h-have that!”

Gen quickly enveloped you in a tight embrace, trying to offer any form of comfort she could. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. Dad and I are just as shocked.” She held you closer, her voice trembling as she, too, was just as anxious as you. “Sachi refused to eat and complained about having a hard time breathing. He was so pale and his lips were blue. We knew we had to rush him to the hospital immediately.”

“Oh my God.” Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to stifle the uncontrollable cries that were escaping. The news of Sachiro developing cyanosis shattered your heart, and the crushing reality that you weren’t there to take care of him tore you apart. “My baby, no. No, no. H-He—”

“Y/N!” 

Out of breath and also visibly shaken was the father of your son, Satoru, who came running to your side the moment his eyes landed on you. Behind him was his mother, clutching a rosary in her hand as both of them were seemingly shell-shocked in the same magnitude as you and your family were. Everyone cared for Sachiro’s well-being, everyone prayed for his safety, and the thought of losing an angel like your son was a soul-crushing thought that sent you slipping into a chasm of suffering.  

“Wh-What happened to Sachi?” Satoru asked in desperation, his question raised to everyone in the vicinity—you, your family, the nurses. But no one could give him a decent answer. “Please, tell me my son’s alright. Tell me.” 

You watched him walk in circles, raking his fingers through his hair as if he was seeking anything to hold onto. And you, feeling that magnet that pulled you closer to him, broke away from Gen’s embrace to look at your son’s father. “Satoru…” 

“Y/N,” his voice cracked as he met your gaze, “Our son.” He stopped, ready to wrap you in a hug—a moment of solace you both desperately needed in this critical time. But just as he pulled you close in a fragile attempt to find comfort together, the door to the ICU swung open, abruptly ending the brief respite.

All of you immediately rushed over to the doctor, the sterile white walls and the distant hum of hospital machinery did nothing to calm the turmoil inside you. 

“Doctor, how’s he?” 

“How’s my grandson, doc?”

“Doc, my son, is he okay?” 

“Is he stable, doc?” 

“Doctor, how’s my son, please?” you asked, your body growing tense to the point of shaking.

The doctor took a deep breath, his expression serious amidst the fusillade of questions thrown at him. “We’re currently running a series of tests on the patient. We suspect Sachiro may have congenital heart disease, specifically a ventricular septal defect with associated pulmonary hypertension.”

No, it can’t be. It’s not possible! The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You struggled to process the information, your vision blurring with tears and your heart drumming a rapid staccato inside. You didn’t need to look at everyone to know that they all, for a moment, looked at you. “Heart disease? But… how? I didn’t think—”

“Can you explain more, doc? Please.” Gojou was desperate, his bright blue eyes now dull and severely clouded with a brewing storm. It was as if he was keeping himself from crying.

The doctor continued gently, “VSD is a condition where there’s a hole in the heart’s ventricular septum. It can lead to pulmonary hypertension, which means the blood pressure in the lungs is elevated. It’s a serious condition, but we’re doing everything we can to assess the extent and provide the best treatment.”

“N-No, oh God. My baby.” You felt your knees go weak, and you sank down against the wall, with more tears cascading down your cheeks like waterfall. The weight of the diagnosis was crushing, but the hardest part was realizing that this was something you had unknowingly passed on to Sachiro. The heart disease was inherited from you and had now manifested in your beloved son.

It’s my fault. It’s my fault! 

The doctor placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “We’ll keep you updated as soon as we have more information. Please, try to stay calm, Y/N. It’s not best for your heart to panic right now. Sachiro is in good hands.”

You were unable to speak through the sobs that wracked your body. The hospital corridor felt endless, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt and helplessness that consumed you. You could feel all eyes on you, judging, harboring hatred, carrying deep-rooted resentment. You were torn apart by the knowledge that the very thing you had feared most was now a reality for your son.

“It’s… It’s my fault,” you sobbed, covering your face with your quivering hands, “This is all my fault. I gave it to Sachiro, I… I’m a terrible mother!” 

Gen knelt beside you, her hands gripping your shoulders with a firm yet gentle touch. “Y/N, stop it. This is not your fault. You didn’t choose this for Sachiro.”

Your father, who had been pacing anxiously nearby, joined in. “Your sister’s right. You’re blaming yourself for something beyond your control. We’re all here for you. We’ll figure this out.”

But amidst your familial exchange, Satoru stood nearby, frozen and listless. His silence only added to the overwhelming distress. Was he also blaming you for what Sachiro was going through right now? Was he also angry at you for putting his son into this critical situation? 

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the commotion—voice that was equally harsh and spiteful. It was Satoru’s mother, boring her fiery eyes into your skull as she opened her mouth. “That’s right! You’re self-aware, aren’t you?” she spat and stood rigidly, arms crossed defensively over her chest. “This is all your fault. You’re such an irresponsible mother! You can’t even take care of my grandson properly, and now you’ve passed your disease onto him!”

You looked up in shock, seeing Satoru’s mother standing there with a disdainful expression. The sting of her words felt like a knife twisting in your heart, because they were true. They were painful, yes, but they were true. And all you could do was lower yourself until you were sitting on your haunches, trying to make yourself as small as possible. 

“Excuse me?!” Gen stood up, her eyes blazing with anger that came from the deepest pits of hell. “You’re unbelievable, Auntie. How dare you speak to my sister like that! You have no right to blame her for this. I hope to God it was you in the ICU right now instead of Sachiro!”

“You…!” 

Satoru’s mother raised a hand to slap Gen, but your father stepped forward, his face a mix of disbelief and indignation. “This is despicable. How can you stand here and say such things to someone who’s already suffering? Weren’t you friends with my wife once?”

Satoru, who had been standing still, suddenly moved with a menacing calm. His face was hard as stone, and his eyes narrowed in anger. What was scarier was him approaching his mother with a threatening stance. “Are you really this pathetic, mother?” Satoru questioned with a cold, cutting tone. “Do you get off on making Y/N suffer? Do you think you’ve gotten away with slapping her behind my back? You don’t get to blame Y/N for anything. Any fucking thing!”

His mother’s eyes widened in shock, but she tried to defend herself at the ruthless stance her son was carrying. All of you were stunned at the realization of how Satoru resembled his cruel father at that moment. “B-But Satoru, my son—”

“Shut up!” Satoru cut her off, his voice harsh and unforgiving, before he threw his cold knuckles against the hard surface of the concrete wall. “I don’t want to see your face ever again! Don’t consider yourself my mother any longer, you witch. You’ve lost that privilege.”

This took a wild turn, and hearing the brutality of Satoru’s words was like a thunderclap in the tense atmosphere. His mother’s face turned pale, her mouth opening and closing in shock as she struggled to respond.

“Get out of here,” Satoru commanded, his voice uncaring towards her. “Leave, and don’t ever come back. You’re nobody to me now.”

With that, Satoru’s mother turned and fled, stumbling down the corridor as if she was the victim in this situation. However, the tension in the air began to dissipate as soon as she left, leaving you, Satoru, Gen, and your father in a heavy silence. Only your sniffles could be heard. 

Even Gen, who was often hostile around your ex-husband, had remained quiet and composed after she watched him take such drastic measures to keep his mother away.

Everyone was silent. Pure, unbothered silence until Satoru’s phone began to buzz loudly, cutting through the stillness of the hallway. For a moment, he closed his eyes, then he fished his phone out of his pocket where you caught a glimpse of the caller ID. 

Akemi. 

——

The ICU only allowed short visits and one person at a time, so there was no need for everyone to stay the night. You were the parent, you were the one responsible for your son’s situation, so you insisted it was best for your dad and Gen to go home and get some rest. You didn’t mind watching over your son for the whole night, because coming home without him was the last thing you would do right now.

My precious angel.

Sachiro lay in the hospital bed, his small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The doctors had managed to stabilize him for now, and the sight of his heart monitor showing a stable rhythm was a small comfort amidst the chaos.

Still, you sat by his bedside, mindful of your timed visit as your hands gently held his tiny ones, feeling the warmth of his small fingers. You glanced down at the medical report on your other hand, trying to make sense of the complex terms and figures.

The words blurred together as your tears fell silently onto the paper. “I’m sorry, baby.” He didn’t deserve this. He’s just a baby. “Mommy’s very sorry.”

You tried to stay strong, putting on a brave face for your son, but inside, you were falling apart. It was impossible not to blame yourself over this, wishing you could do more than just be present around him. This was the comeuppance of your own actions after you focused on your own emotions for the past few weeks to the point of neglecting your son’s wellbeing. If you had been more present in his life, if you had been more observant, you would have easily noticed the signs. Now, you allowed Satoru to find a flaw in your duty as a mother, and he could cite this very event as evidence to get full custody of him. That is, if he were to ever consider taking your son away from you. 

But in the first place, he should be the last person to do that, because where exactly was he now? 

Your thoughts kept drifting back to the earlier scene, where he excused to answer Akemi’s call, and later that night told you he had to leave and “check something” urgently. He promised he’d be back before midnight, but where was he? 

Resentment began to fester within you.

You had been very perceptive of Akemi’s feelings, apologetic in the way you supposedly betrayed her, but the fact that she was still scrambling for Satoru’s attention in the midst of your son’s hospitalization was something you could never forgive her for. 

And as for Sachiro’s father, how could he prioritize another woman when his own son was in such a critical state? The confusion of his actions was overwhelming. It felt like a cruel deja vu that, at a time when you needed him the most, he was choosing to be elsewhere. You could accept it if it was a choice between you and another woman, but between his son and her? His behavior was unacceptable, disgusting even, and it only served to deepen your grudge against him.

You clenched your fists, trying to push away the surge of anger that threatened to consume you after seeing that the disparity in his actions felt like both a betrayal and a slap to the face. Your poor son. You stared at Sachiro’s peaceful face and stroked his cheek. How could Satoru be so indifferent to his own flesh and blood?

The room was silent except for the soft beeping of the heart monitor and your quiet sobs. The situation was almost too much to bear, and your resentment towards Gojou grew heavier by the second. Each minute felt like a lifetime, and the emptiness left by his absence was a constant reminder that yet again he chose another woman over his own family.

It’s okay. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. I won’t leave you, Sachi. For Sachiro’s sake, you needed to find the strength to carry on, to be the mother he needed in this moment of crisis and never again failing to be there for your only child. 

At exactly 10:30 pm, the nurse came in and told you visiting hours were over. You complied. 

At 11:00 pm, Ian paid you a quick visit and talked to the nurses, perhaps giving them reminders to look after you. 

At 12:00 am, you were alone again. Seated at one of the benches outside the ICU—sleepless, starving, and nauseous. 

At 2:00 am, you remained in your seat despite the sterile smell of antiseptic mingling with your own discomfort. The flickering fluorescent lights above did little to help you get some proper sleep. The cold air-conditioning alao made you shiver slightly, hugging your own body to try and give yourself some warmth. 

At 4:00 am, you awakened from the noise of the movements beside you. Realizing you had fallen asleep, you looked up and saw Satoru taking a seat to your left. His coat was draped over his arm, and he offered it to you.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, but you could see the bags under his eyes suggesting the sleepless nights he’d had for the past few days. “You can use my coat.”

You took the coat, but as you caught a whiff of it, a familiar scent of Akemi’s perfume lingered. Rose Prick by Tom Ford. It was a scent you’d come to recognize after your years of being her best friend, and it made your stomach turn slightly. Without any hesitation, you handed the coat back to him. “No, thank you. I’m fine,” you replied, avoiding his gaze. Looking into his eyes was the last thing you would do. 

And you knew Satoru was sighing, but didn’t press the issue. “The nurse mentioned you haven’t eaten today.” He pulled out a small bag of assorted fruits, placing it gently on the seat between you. You eyed the offerings, feeling a pang of hunger but also a strange aversion. “I bought some fruit. Is there anything you like?”

You took a deep breath and broke the silence with a hint of sarcasm. “You’re really good at this, huh?”

“At what?” was his immediate question, puzzled.

“Hitting two birds with one stone.”

“Y/N…”

“Stop trying to take care of me,” you interrupted, your tone sharper than intended. “ I don’t need it.”

“But—”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “You can’t even be here for Sachi. You can’t even choose your son. He’s in a life and death situation and we’re still only receiving scraps of your attention.” It was the deep-seated grudge spilling out of you. “You’re so good at abandoning people, huh? Even though that’s what you hate the most. You’re so good at disappearing without even a text or call to check on me and our son. After that night at the cabin, you just…” you paused, realizing that you were opening too much of your heart to a man who didn’t deserve it. “Forget it. Just go home to Akemi. Live a happy life, build a family with her. Forget us. I don’t care. I’ll take care of Sachiro myself. I’ve done it for three years!”

“Y/N, I’m not trying to hurt you. I just…” Satoru fumbled for words, his somber blue eyes bearing the history of your shared heartbreak. It was as though the painful memories of your past were flooding his thoughts, seeking justification as to why he couldn’t pick you again this time. “I had to be there for her. She’s…”

You turned away before he could see your expression, because your heart was splintering at the thought of Satoru Gojou shattering it once more. As he always did. There seemed to be no end to this relentless heartbreak, as if any hope of a happy ever after with the man you loved would only return a pain that was a hundred times worse. Perhaps, this was destiny’s way of telling you that you and him weren’t meant to be. That any wishful thinking of being with Satoru again was only something that you could expect in another universe.

So, in your defense, you had to pull on a facade. A mask that you had to wear in the face of being the target of never-ending despair. “Satoru, I don’t want to talk about it,” you said firmly, concealing the raw ache in your voice with a smile. “And I don’t expect you to choose me every time. It’s okay. It’s happened before.”

“Can’t you see I’m hurting, too?” he asked, his voice breaking. Though you couldn’t see his face, the tremor in his voice revealed his struggle to hold back tears. 

You couldn’t understand why he would be hurting with his decision. When faced with two crossroads, he always seemed to pick the path that led away from you. So instead of trying to comprehend his pain, you decided it was time to honor your own. For your sake. For Sachiro’s. 

“Let’s just forget about that night,” you declared, wiping your eyes as you got up from your seat and prepared to walk away. “From this day forward, let’s pretend it never happened.”

——

Akemi’s apartment was dark when Satoru stepped inside. 

And to be honest, the darkness was a relief. At least, she wouldn’t be able to see the lassitude etched on his face, not just from juggling his time between his son and her, but from the constant ache of hurting the person he loved.

Miscommunication is a couple’s greatest enemy, and the persistent disconnect between you two, coupled with the reluctance to clear things up, had worn Satoru down. He wanted to end this—the feeling of helplessness and the torment of seeing the woman he cared for caught in a labyrinth of despair.

The hospital visits to Sachiro alone had been a whirlwind of emotions and responsibilities, and this brief visit to Akemi felt like an unwelcome detour, but one he couldn’t avoid. Satoru knew his heart wanted to stay in the hospital with you, to wait for any updates on his son, to hold your hand and care for you, yet here he was, dragging his feet across the carpeted floors to approach Akemi. 

“Hey.” She was sitting on the couch, looking frail but alert as if she had been desperately waiting on his arrival. She had recently started treatment for her stage 3 endometrial cancer, and Satoru could see the toll it was taking on her, physically and emotionally. He would be cruel to leave her hanging like this, to neglect her at her worst when she had been there by his side at his. Satoru had an unspoken accountability on her, because it wouldn’t be fair for him to just abandon her after she poured all her heart and soul into helping Gojou get back onto his own feet.  

“Hey, ‘Kemi,” he said, his tone soft but distant. “Did you take your meds today?”

Akemi looked up at him, her eyes tired and heavy. “I did. I took them just like the doctor said. How’s Sachiro?”

Gojou’s expression tightened. “He’s holding steady at the moment.”

A heavy silence settled between them before Akemi broke the tension. “I’m glad he’s stable,” she said, quietly. “Are you okay?”

He nodded once, his mind already drifting back to the hospital. “Yeah. Listen, I need to head back soon. Nanami and Miwa will be alternating in looking after you from now on. They’ll make sure you’re okay while I’m dealing with Sachiro. I have to focus on my son.”

Akemi’s frail hand reached out to gently grip his arm, the other held her lower abdomen in pain. “Satoru, please don’t go just yet. Can’t you stay a little longer?”

Now’s not the time to feel guilty. It was either her or Sachiro. Her or his son. Gojou decided to pull his arm away gently, his gaze distant. “Sachiro needs me, Akemi. You know that.”

Akemi’s face fell, but she knew it would be ridiculous to argue over that. “No, I understand. I get that. I want you to focus on Sachi, too. I just wish—” Before she could finish, her voice faltered, and she looked up at him with a hesitant gaze. “Satoru, do you regret that I took you back even if you cheated on me?”

The question caught him off guard, and Satoru’s blue eyes narrowed as he processed her words. He had been so focused on his responsibilities and the immediate crisis that he hadn’t given much thought to their ‘relationship’. All he knew was when he showed up at her doorstep back at the cabin, he was only going to try and end things with her. He was only going to clarify the longstanding feelings you and him poured out to each other that night, which was why he ended up sleeping with his ex-wife. But because Akemi suffered at the time, because her pelvic pain worsened to the point of an emergency, he had to hold back and just take care of her in the weeks that passed. He was caged in this situation like a prisoner who was found guilty for the crimes he had committed.

Just be honest, Satoru. Disregard everything else and just be honest. Satoru believed it was about time he stood his ground no matter the consequences. “You can’t take me back if we’re not together, ‘Kemi,” he breathed out those words, reticent on hurting her with the truth. If she would lash out on him, throw a vase on his head, slam a book on his face—he wouldn’t mind. He was ready to accept all the violence he deserved from being an asshole. “You knew from the start that this, us, was only temporary. It was never supposed to be serious.” 

Her expressions turned doleful. “Then, in that case, did you at least…” Tears welled up in her eyes as she she paused, “Did you at least love me?”

“I just… I never saw it that way, Akemi.” Satoru’s honesty would destroy her, but he didn’t want to keep on sending out false hopes. He had to be firm, and while he was grateful for everything she did for him, that doesn’t mean he owed her his life and loyalty. In the first place, he warned her that he wasn’t ready to be in a relationship. And God, he was far from ready to even settle down, yet Akemi constantly hinted at wanting to tie the knot with him. Again and again did she mention the thought of a wedding and a child and her own family. 

Satoru wanted all those things too, but with another person in mind. He was only set on having those things with one woman.

Akemi’s face paled upon hearing his answer and the fact that he didn’t even bother to explain himself. “I see. I guess I needed to hear that.”

Gojou looked at her with a mix of regret and sympathy. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you like this, I really do.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

It definitely wasn’t fine, but Satoru had to take her word for it as he got out from the couch and gave her a gentle pat on the head. “I have to go. Nanami will be here soon. Please make sure to follow the treatment plan and take care of yourself.”

Akemi nodded, though her gaze remained fixed on the floor, unable to meet his eyes. “Alright. I’ll see him when he gets here.”

As Gojou turned to leave, he felt a pang of guilt twisting deep in his gut but pushed it aside. He was a father first before anything else. Sachiro would always be his first and foremost priority amongst everything else. 

——

After leaving Akemi’s place, Satoru was driving his car into the evening air beyond the speed limit. And his mind was racing together with him as he thought of you, your son, and the myriad of emotions he was struggling to manage. He couldn’t wait to be home, not literally at his own place, but anywhere with you and his son was his definition of home. 

It would be diabolical for him to run into your arms and yell, ‘I’m free! We can be together again!’ No, that would be cruel and disgusting. He respected Akemi just as he respected you. It was himself that he couldn’t respect, because he was the one responsible for the mess that he created. And adding Sachiro’s critical condition on top of the already festering wounds in your relationship? It truly was the manifestation of karma in his actions. 

His footsteps bounced through the hospital corridors the moment he arrived, each impatient step was ready to see your face and tell you he would never leave you and Sachiro now. But as he neared the pediatric ICU, his eyes darted around, the sight of his ex-wife was nowhere to be found. And instinctively, his heart pounded in his chest, and a drum of panic seemed to warn him of a storm that was about to come. Something was off, and it scared him. 

“Nurse,” he called out, his voice edged with urgency as he approached their station. “Where’s my wife? The boy’s mother?”

The nurse looked up, recognizing the infamous CEO’s face. “Uh, Mr. Gojou, she was heading to the rooftop, I think.”

“What?!” he unintentionally yelled at her face, “Why didn’t you guys keep an eye on her?” 

“Sir, calm down. She’s probably going to get some fresh air.”

A cold chill ran down his spine. You were definitely not there for that. 

Without another word, he sprinted towards the stairs, taking them two at a time instead of waiting at an elevator together with a group of people. He had to get to you as soon and as fast as he could without another second to waste. Although the climb felt endless, his mind racing with fear and dread was the push he needed to finally reach you. 

And upon bursting through the door to the rooftop, he was met with the soft whisper of the evening wind and the heart-stopping sight of you standing perilously close to the edge.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice breaking with desperation. “Don’t do this. Please, step back.”

You stood motionless, eyes fixed on the distant horizon, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of sorrow. “The world hates me, Satoru,” you whispered, the mellow tone of your voice carried away by the wind. “I’m a burden to everyone, even my own child. I-I just… I want to end it all.”

“No!” Satoru’s heart shattered at your words while he moved closer, his hands outstretched and careful not to startle or provoke you. He was dying to have you in his arms and keep you safe. “Y/N, please. Come back. What about Sachi? What about me? We need you. Sachiro needs you. I need you.”

What exactly made you go here? How did thoughts of ending yourself suddenly come into fruition? Was there something you discovered that brought you to this ultimatum? Gojou was desperate, utterly desperate, to hear what was running through your mind so that he could at least ease the burden that you were carrying all by yourself. He was once in the position where he wanted to commit too, and he knew the temptation that came with permanently escaping the cruelty of the world in just a single action. 

“Y/N, please. Please, I’m begging. Come to me,” he rattled on in a suffocating whisper, the pleading in his voice was heavy, “Please. I love you. Only you.”  

It was when you turned around that Gojou’s world collapsed, and the words you said after had shattered his entire universe. 

They were still. 

You. 

And the wind. 

“I’m pregnant,” you finally confessed, voice cracking as you looked at the faint tears that fell from Satoru’s eyes. “I don’t wanna have this baby.” 

[kingocats]

I do think it’s strange that Maedhros of all people is a character that gets woobified so hard because the MOST compelling thing about him isn’t his heroism, it’s the fact that he was heroic and the BECAME A VILLAIN. I’m not even going to say became an anti hero because I don’t think that’s accurate, I mean he became a straight up villain. Destroying what was basically a refugee camp, attacking the army fighting against morgoth when half of his identity post thangorodrim was once based around fighting Morgoth. I’m not the first person to mention the irony of the fact that maedhros is the only person to ever escape Angband without being in thrall to Morgoth, and then years later his actions are absolutely aiding morgoths cause rather than the cause of the remaining Noldor.

And that is what sets this character apart. His downfall. Part of that downfall is his earlier heroism but what makes this character so well written in the first place is that the seeds of that downfall start early at Alqualonde. It’s tragic but it isn’t surprising.

I changing this character around so that somehow his later actions are excusable or against his will or that deep down he has actually been a hero this whole time is very strange because if that’s the case then how is he any different than fingon or turgon or thingol? In fact if that’s the case then he’s more boring than these characters because he’s not nearly as outwardly noble.

He becomes a villain and as the shadows of that villainy were apparent early on, the shadow of his heroism is still apparent later on as well and that’s the tragedy. He could have turned around at any point, he could have still saved himself. But he doesn’t and it’s horribly tragic and as a story, it’s absolutely brilliant character work.

[man-down-in-hatchet-town]

THERE'S A CASTLE ON THE HILL, AS THE STORY GOES...

As promised, some initial thoughts on the things I loved about seeing this show. Spoiler free, since most of us haven't gotten to see it yet, and under the cut since I do wax a bit poetic...

Cinderella’s Castle is, in a strange way, an exercise in irony. The show is a retelling of an ancient story that is beloved and recited throughout so many cultures, and yet somehow feels completely fresh. The modern take on glam-punk lighting, a score infused with styles from 80s synth to anime, a high fantasy set with the costumes to match, the spirit of Jim Henson lingering through both the puppets and some larger and intangible vibe, a script combining that Starkid humor and Hatchetfield darkness with a whole different style of speaking… all of these beautifully executed elements melted together into something that I’ve never before seen. To take a tale as old as time and make it unique is no easy feat, but Starkid did so with magic and charm to spare.

Like any good Starkid show, Cinderella’s Castle is relentlessly dynamic: fun and tragic and exciting and just-plain-silly, with many twists and turns and character moments will make you gasp or cheer just as often as you laugh. It simply rollicks. The story clicks right along, especially in act 2, but the characters are so distinct and fun that I found myself almost wishing the Langs had sacrificed their plotting and pace just to spend more time hanging with every single member of this ensemble of personalities.

And that’s also a tribute to the actors themselves. Jeff is David Bowie reborn as the impish and fabulous narrator. Jon and Joey bring Hop A Lot and Crumb to life with so much charm and presence that they practically had the audience eating out of their hands from the very first second. Like, seriously, you will not believe how invested you will immediately become in these talking animals. Kim’s Fairy Queen is as radiant and terrible as promised; her portrayal of immortal inhuman power compels and commands and stands fully distinct from the Lords in Black. Lauren and Mariah are delightfully disgusting as the vile but deeply lovable troll step-sisters; you can feel the fun they’re having practically radiating off of them. Curt’s Tadius is dryly funny and put-upon, but also provides a vitally grounding and centering presence in the larger-than-life world of the Lands That Are. His big scene with Bryce is probably my favorite part of the whole show. James Tolbert is nothing short of an absolute STAR as the Prince, stealing scene after scene after scene with ease and charm and more jokes about genitalia than I think any of us expected. Angela once again displays a completely different facet of her never-ending range, exuding such elegance and control even in trollish filth that I do fear that the kids on the internet are going to start calling her “mother” with greatly increasing frequency. "Facade" was an absolute highlight of the night. And of course Bryce anchors, propels, and heightens every scene she’s in with such apparent ease you forget she’s been rehearsing for weeks and isn’t simply Ella herself. Ella is this world’s bruised, brave, and angry heart, and you will absolutely root for her every step of the way as she wrestles with who she is and learns what it means to claim her own power.

This was Starkid’s biggest budgeted show to date, and you could tell. This group of Michigan Wolverines and friends have accomplished incredible things since the Very Potter days of a single door and some cardboard columns, and I’m so proud of how far they’ve come. And yet Cinderella’s Castle, the fifteenth musical in the fifteenth year, still retains some of that core Starkid magic that I’ve always believed boils down to love. You can so often see that love emanating from the performers on a Starkid stage: love for the show, for their friends, for their craft, for the audience’s energy pushing them through. And the sense of love and support and community radiating from the audience is just as palpable. The man sitting behind me last night was at his first ever Starkid show, and afterwards he remarked in awe how that was the best audience he’d ever been in. And all that love isn’t unearned—it is built and it is nourished by a proud history of creativity, of song and of dance and of laughter and tears. And Cinderella’s Castle, I think, is going to prove an installment worthy of both Starkid’s past and future.

Starkid family, Bogs Hollow grants thee Starlight.

[drchucktingle]

queer horror memory lane

i know this screenshot above is just way of some algorithm but seeing these books together i am so honored youve allowed me to open my heart and trot out my art in this unique way. having two well received queer horror books (and third on way) is amazing given where i started my trot. thank you

easy to talk on 'death of unique art' these days but if you look at my story it is powerful example that buckaroos have a taste for challenging or untraditional figures in art. this is NOT to my credit, this is to YOUR credit. YOU have supported queer autistic art. i am so moved

i am already a pretty optimistic bud but still BLOWN AWAY by way my trot has been embraced over time. i recognize my perspective is 'strange' to many but to see the way this unique way was once treated with irony and now sincerity has bloomed in its place. it brings tears of joy

as i trot down my QUEER HORROR memory lane i am going to repost TRAILER for each book just because i have been basking in these memories and recalling the slow embrace of this timeline around me. thank you for allowing me this space i am so humbled and honored. LOVE IS REAL

STRAIGHT

When a strange tear in the cosmos appears within Earth’s annual path, the consequences are disastrous. For one night a year, the vast majority of humans now undergo a frightening mental change, transforming into hateful, rage-fueled zombies who will stop at nothing to satiate their desire for brutality.

While not much is understood about this horrific mass hysteria, the demographic it effects is very specific: cisgender straight people. 

A few years after the first of these tragic events, four friends from across the queer spectrum look for safety in solitude, hunkering down in a remote desert cabin for what is now known as Saturation Day. With a vaccine available for straight people to curb their violent episodes, some predict the worst is over. Others aren’t so sure.

As night falls, it becomes clear that survival isn’t guaranteed this Saturation Day.

GET STRAIGHT HERE

CAMP DAMASCUS

From beloved internet icon Chuck Tingle, Camp Damascus is a searing and earnest horror debut about the demons the queer community faces in America, the price of keeping secrets, and finding the courage to burn it all down. Welcome to Neverton, Montana: home to a God-fearing community with a heart of gold. Nestled high up in the mountains is Camp Damascus, the self-proclaimed “most effective�� gay conversion camp in the country. Here, a life free from sin awaits. But the secret behind that success is anything but holy. And they’ll scare you straight to hell.

GET CAMP DAMASCUS HERE

BURY YOUR GAYS

Misha knows that chasing success in Hollywood can be hell.

But finally, after years of trying to make it, his big moment is here: an Oscar nomination. And the executives at the studio for his long-running streaming series know just the thing to kick his career to the next level: kill off the gay characters, "for the algorithm," in the upcoming season finale.

Misha refuses, but he soon realizes that he’s just put a target on his back. And what’s worse, monsters from his horror movie days are stalking him and his friends through the hills above Los Angeles.

Haunted by his past, Misha must risk his entire future―before the horrors from the silver screen find a way to bury him for good.

PREORDER BURY YOUR GAYS HERE

i am blessed by your support, your love, and your kindness. cannot believe how lucky i am to trot with you in all in this way and i cant WAIT to see what the future of this timeline holds for us. thank you for proving love with me from the past to the future

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hiii I’ve been following the Malleus talk for some time now and wanted to ask what things you do like about him or good traits you think he has. I ask because when you explained that why you don’t like Vil you also said what you liked about him. That he works hard and is confident. So I’m wondering if you have some of those for Malleus!

[Referencing this post and this post!]

Aaaaaah, I tried my best to come up with things I like about Malleus but fair warning that it’s not a lot and I had to pick really specific instances rather than general characteristics 💦 I hope that’s okay!!

His mom is hot--

There are times when he acts appropriately neutral, wise, and dignified, as a crown prince and future king should be. I like these moments and want more of them over him being pouty or lashing out. A few examples of this include Fairy Gala (he knows there are tensions between nocturnal and diurnal fae and rightfully stays out of it), Ghost Marriage (he cannot thoughtlessly propose to Eliza but does support Riddle and Lilia in their preparations), and Vargas Camp (when he instructs Sebek to apologize to Leona, who still counts as a fellow prince).

His patience with Sebek. Early on in the fandom I think there was this expectation that Malleus would find Sebek annoying? But it’s refreshing to see that he isn’t usually bothered by Sebek’s presence and handles interactions in a level-headed and blunt manner. He doesn’t discourage Sebek and his special interests either; Malleus tends to entertain them (like the time he sat still and had the royal painter do a portrait of Malleus for Sebek’s birthday gift) or is otherwise pretty indifferent about it, though of course he still corrects Sebek when he steps out of line or intrudes on others. For example, Malleus still speaks up when Sebek is rude to other nobles or is disturbing the peace with his loudness.

Malleus’s love and care for the gargoyles of the City of Flowers/Fleur City. His friendship with that one gargoyle was just so adorable!! Short it may have been, but it was still very genuine.

His parallels with Leona. A crown prince with few close friends or family… versus a prince who will never have the crown but is surrounded by loving people… They want what the other has so badly, and I think there’s such a tragic irony about that.

The one time Malleus truly felt fear (thanks to Rollo). Listen, LISTEN 😭 This was legitimately so cool????? To think that it would be Rollo lighting a fire under Malleus’s tail, forcing this overpowered fairy to experience that same feeling others may have when he unleashes his power on them… Oh, how the tables turn. It’s interesting that Malleus reacts as if he’s amused by the sensation of fear and welcomes the challenge; it sort of implies he was growing bored of the same old routine and is actually showing some strange respect to Rollo by deeming him a worthy opponent. This being one of the few times Malleus shows vulnerability instead of dominating the battle, of course I’d love it 😂

But most importantly…. Malleus’s best trait is—

***Late book 7 spoilers below the cut!!!***

He was once a cute lil’ baby dragon that makes silly lizard sounds 🐉 (alas, he is no longer one… 😔) And again, he has a hot mom—

[dykedvonte]

I haven't had time to think things too deeply yet and haven't dove into the tags but are there really people reflecting the exact thing Jimmy did in the game at it's most basic? It seems a little tragically poetic to me since Jimmy placed all the blame on others and refused to take responsibility for anything, even in the end it was a selfish action rather than a responsible one.

I also feel like Curly was somewhat more aware on some level of the danger Jimmy presented, the long foreboding walk down the stairs to the cockpit to take Jimmy's psych evaluation, the emergency alarms ringing and the broken ladders presenting a feeling of no escape.

Was anyone there even trained to handle a situation like this? Pony Express sure didn't care about safety, that's for certain..

My thoughts are more on people making sure to remind you what Curly didn’t do to prevent it than the fuitity of the situations and the options he had.

I am in the camp that Curly could’ve done more, put Anya first and prioritized Jimmy less, but I feel like many people shape it more around malice on Curlys part to talk about how he isn’t a good person. It’s taking a character flaw and making it the character and it’s annoying to a degree. As you mentions there’s not the avenues or procedure for him or anyone to handle a delicate issue like this is. There aren’t the realistic avenues people can take without someone facing more harassment, harm or issues. It’s the irony that in thinking that Curly could’ve done more, you are giving him power he doesn’t have just like Jimmy did in his weird envious worship of Curly.

It’s erasing Jimmy’s culpability and sort of turning Curly into his handler which is exactly what Jimmy seems to do with him often, like yes, Curly enables Jimmy in many ways he shouldn’t but he also isn’t shielded from those exact behaviors. Curly can’t escape Jimmy in an adjacent way Anya can’t escape him (mentally, physically, emotionally). Their relationship is unhealthy on both parts but Curly is the one truly being victimized in it.

It’s such a good representation of how toxicity seeps and cycles between other even if trying to be good or just or help and it gets overshadowed by how one can be better despite the situation quite literally points out that there are points where it’s impossible.

[elysiaheaven]

KC cast when breakup with their s/o!

THIS WAS A PAIN TO WRITE!!

KC cast when breakup with their s/o! This could be ooc for some characters! ^^

Ronin- The Devil's Butcher

“Hey, so…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can we talk about us? Like, seriously?”

His eyes sparkled with mischief, and he straightened, stepping closer. “What’s there to talk about? I thought we were having a blast!” He leaned in, his tone dripping with irony. “You know, living the dream, fighting against the mundane, embracing our tragic romance like the protagonists of some angsty novel?”

“Ronin, stop joking around,” you pleaded, trying to inject some seriousness into the moment. “This isn’t funny. I’m serious.”

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” He cocked his head to the side, the grin never leaving his lips. “You know I thrive on the ridiculousness of it all. Why break up with you when I can just keep toying with your emotions like a cat with a mouse?”

Your heart sank, confusion mixing with frustration. “You think this is a game? That I’m just some toy for you to play with?”

He stepped back, letting out a soft chuckle, his eyes glinting with a twisted delight. “Oh, sweetheart, you know you’re much more than that. You’re like… my favorite game. But maybe I’m just getting bored of playing.”

“Bored?” you echoed, disbelief flooding your voice. “You can’t be serious.”

He shrugged, the casualness of his movements almost mocking. “Oh, I’m dead serious. Think about it. You and me? It’s like the best horror movie plot twist, isn’t it? The classic ‘I can’t handle your intensity, so I’m gonna ghost you’ moment.” He tilted his head, pretending to ponder, then added, “How about we make it a dramatic exit? It’d be so much more entertaining.”

A lump formed in your throat. “So you’re just going to throw this away? Everything we’ve built?”

“Built? Ha! We were more like a rickety shack on the edge of a cliff, darling. All it takes is one little push to watch it tumble into the abyss. And honestly? I’m just not feeling the adrenaline anymore.” He looked at you, his eyes piercing but playful. “I mean, how many more times can I listen to you tell me to stop joking before it gets boring?”

You felt your heart ache, each word cutting deeper. “You’re breaking up with me because you’re bored? Because you think it’s a game?”

“Pretty much.” He smiled, the devilish glint in his eye never fading. “But hey, it’s been a hell of a ride, hasn’t it? Maybe we’ll meet again in some alternate universe, where I’m not such an asshole.”

After the breakup, Ronin maintains his usual devil-may-care attitude, plastering on that signature smirk and making dark jokes to anyone who’ll listen. However, inside, he feels a swirling storm of regret and fear, a feeling he rarely acknowledges. The laughter and playful teasing mask a gnawing worry about the void left in his life.

His love for the theatricality of life makes it hard for him to admit he’s hurting. The post-ironic lens he views the world through twists everything into a dark joke, making it hard for him to understand his own feelings. He chuckles to himself, thinking, Is this the part where I dramatically reflect on my life choices?

Ronin realizes that he enjoyed the challenge of corrupting and rebuilding you, but now it feels like a game lost. He’s torn between his pleasure in manipulation and a deeper, unsettling craving for genuine connection. The thrill of twisting your mind now feels empty without you there to play against.

He finds himself haunted by memories of your time together, often replaying conversations in his mind. The little things—your laughter, your exasperated eye rolls at his dark humor—sting more than he expected. The thought of you moving on fills him with an irrational panic.

In an attempt to distract himself from the ache, Ronin immerses himself in his "work," spiraling deeper into his more devilish tendencies. He takes on riskier jobs, pushing his limits and living dangerously, thinking it might fill the void. However, each time he looks into the eyes of his victims, he sees glimpses of you, and it only deepens his conflict.

Alone at night, when the chaos quiets, the mask begins to slip. He stares at the ceiling, reflecting on what it means to be "the Butcher." The irony isn’t lost on him; here he is, a killer yearning for something real, grappling with emotions he deemed beneath him. The image of your face haunts him, and he wonders if he pushed you away because he feared his own growing attachment.

Ronin feels a sense of freedom in being alone, yet it frightens him. His nature thrives in chaos, and the loss of your vibrant presence leaves him feeling empty. He fears that if he opens up to the idea of missing you, it might lead to a vulnerability he’s not ready to face.

He engages in his twisted thoughts, he reflects on whether he could have manipulated the situation differently, wondering if he should have pushed back against the fear instead of giving in. His mind flirts with the idea of reconnecting, yet he recoils, convinced that his devilish nature could never let him be truly vulnerable with you again.

Ronin begins to write poetry, scribbling down his thoughts in a dark notebook. Each line drips with irony, masked in the guise of self-deprecation and humor, but they reveal the heartache he tries to hide. In those moments, he questions if he’s become the very monster he sought to control, lost to his own games.

In the end, he knows he’ll keep cycling through this madness: flirting with danger, toying with the idea of reaching out, all while holding onto the mask of the devil he has carefully crafted. But deep down, the conflict remains—he misses you more than he’s willing to admit, and the fun of corruption no longer feels like enough to fill the chasm you left behind.

After the breakup, Ronin maintains his usual devil-may-care attitude, plastering on that signature smirk and making dark jokes to anyone who’ll listen. However, inside, he feels a swirling storm of regret and fear. maybe... He will mask it. It's been easy for him...

It's just another tragic love story!!

Ronin slouched in his chair, a scowl etched across his face as he tapped his phone impatiently. Angel had been the only one to check in on him since the breakup, her concern unrelenting even as he tried to distance himself from anyone who might dig deeper. He didn’t need pity; he was the Butcher, the devil in disguise. But the screen lit up with her name, and against his better judgment, he opened the message.

Angel: Hey, just wanted to check in. Have you been okay?

He scoffed at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, hesitant. Didja think I care? Nope.

The response felt empty even as he hit send, and he leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. A part of him relished the chance to brush her off, to maintain his devil-may-care image. But there was a gnawing doubt creeping in, an itch beneath his skin.

Angel: You don’t have to pretend with me. You know I care about you, right?

He rolled his eyes, dismissing her concern as he replied, So fun. The sarcasm dripped off his words like poison, but as soon as he hit send, he felt a hollowness settle in his chest.

He wasn't usually like this to angel..

As he stood up from the seat, he felt the weight of the world pressing down on him, the playful bravado fading with every step. He walked to the mirror, the harsh light exposing the cracks in his carefully curated facade. His heart raced, pounding like a drum in the silence.

Staring at his reflection, he felt a tremor in his hands. The smirk, the bravado, the devilish charm—none of it felt real anymore. In that moment, the mask slipped, and he let out a shaky breath, tears welling up in his eyes.

Even the devil can cry, he thought bitterly, feeling the warmth trickle down his cheeks. He’d buried his heart at Angelwood, thinking he could forget that it ever existed. But the truth was, it was still there, dormant but never gone, lingering beneath layers of irony and cruelty. It throbbed painfully in the wake of your absence, a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

The irony twisted in his gut; he had reveled in his chaos, played the part of the heartless killer, but beneath it all, he was just a man. A man who let himself feel, and now, that feeling was tearing him apart. Each drop of sorrow felt like a nail in the coffin he’d built around his heart, and no amount of darkness could extinguish the light that had once burned so brightly for you.

He took a step back, the reflection in the glass warping under the weight of his emotions. The devil might have loved too deeply, too fiercely, and now he was left with nothing but echoes of laughter and moments that would haunt him like shadows.

Ronin wiped at his eyes, anger bubbling up to mask the pain. Get it together, he thought, but deep down, he knew the truth. He missed you—more than he’d ever let on, more than he’d ever wanted to admit. The heart he thought he buried was alive and well, and it ached like a fresh wound.

V- Batman

You stood with your hands in the soil, tending to a row of young saplings. The scent of damp earth filled the air, a familiar comfort you always found with V. But tonight, something felt different—colder.

He stood nearby, watching you in silence. His arms crossed, his sharp, unreadable gaze fixed on the plants you were nurturing so carefully.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and even, like a blade drawn slowly from its sheath. “We need to talk.”

You glanced up, wiping your hands on a rag, sensing the weight behind his words. “V, what’s going on?”

There was a pause—one of those long, uncomfortable silences he often wielded like a weapon. His expression remained stone-cold, but his fingers tapped lightly against his forearm, betraying the tiniest flicker of hesitation.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said at last, “about us. About what I want. What I need. And… I shouldn’t have weaknesses. Not like this.”

The words hit like a sudden frost settling over the warmth of the greenhouse. You frowned, feeling something twist uncomfortably in your chest. “What are you talking about? Weakness?”

He exhaled slowly, as though every word had to be calculated. “Loving you is a liability. You make me…” He trailed off, narrowing his eyes as if admitting the truth to himself was almost offensive. “Vulnerable.”

You blinked, a knot tightening in your throat. “So what, you’re saying you care too much? That it’s a bad thing?”

He gave you that familiar, detached look—the one that always frustrated you because it made you feel like your words were being weighed and found lacking. “It is,” he said matter-of-factly. “If I care, I’ll hesitate. If I hesitate… I lose.”

“Lose?” You stepped forward, trying to make sense of the walls he was building. “V, this isn’t some tactical mission. This is us. You don’t have to fight me like I’m the enemy.”

He didn’t move away when you closed the space between you, but his posture stiffened—like he was bracing himself, fighting the urge to soften. His gaze flickered briefly to the plants behind you, and something about the way he looked at them made your heart ache. He had always admired your ability to nurture life. Maybe that was part of the problem.

“Don’t you get it?” he murmured, the faintest crack slipping into his otherwise steady voice. “You’re the kind of person who brings things to life. And I’m… I’m not built for that. I’ve spent my whole life trying to eliminate threats, avoid attachments. If I let you stay, I’ll start—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “I’ll start believing that something good can last. That I could keep it.”

“And that scares you.” Your voice was soft, but it wasn’t a question.

He gave a small, bitter smile—barely more than a twitch of his lips. “More than you know.”

You reached for him, but he took a step back, the movement as deliberate as the rest of him.

“This isn’t about you,” he said quietly, but with finality. “It’s about me. I need to be in control. Of myself. Of everything.”

“So what?” you asked, anger creeping into your voice. “You’re just going to walk away because loving me makes you feel human?”

He didn’t answer right away. For a moment, the silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. Then he gave a short, almost mechanical nod, as if he’d already accepted the conclusion long before this conversation started. “Yes.”

The word was sharp and precise, like a scalpel cutting away what remained of your relationship.

You stared at him, the anger dissolving into disbelief. “That’s it?”

His gaze softened, just for a moment—a fleeting crack in the armor he wore so tightly. “I wish it could be different. But this… this isn’t who I’m supposed to be.”

“V,” you whispered, hoping, praying for something—anything—that would prove he still felt what you knew he did.

He looked at you for a long, agonizing moment, as if memorizing your face, storing it away somewhere deep inside where even he wouldn’t be able to touch it again. Then, in the cold, measured tone that defined him, he said:

“Take care of the yourself.”

And just like that, he turned and left, his footsteps quiet and steady, as if the weight of the world didn’t press down on his shoulders with every step.

You stood there, rooted in place, surrounded by the life you had nurtured together. But the warmth that had once existed between you was gone, replaced by the cold absence of a man too afraid to let himself love.

After breakup

After the breakup, V seems completely unaffected to anyone who looks at him. He keeps his composure—his face neutral, his voice flat. But in reality, every moment feels heavier than the last, as if the air around him thickens with regret. He doesn’t say it aloud, but your absence clings to him like a bruise, slow to fade.

He throws himself into routines: feeding stray animals, taking care of his birdies

V starts taking longer and longer walks at night, finding solace in animals—creatures who don’t demand emotional explanations or try to decipher the complicated labyrinth of his thoughts. He prefers their company now; they don’t pry. But every time he comes across a familiar place where the two of you once spent time together, the ache sharpens in his chest. He curses himself for noticing. He curses you for lingering, even when you’re not there.

In his mind, the breakup was the logical choice. You deserved someone softer, someone better suited for a future with gardens and pets that didn’t come with the looming shadow of death. His cold detachment was supposed to make things easier for both of you—cleaner. But it didn’t. Not for him. No matter how much he tries to rationalize it, the feelings linger, gnawing at him like ivy curling through the cracks of his armor.

V was drawn to your nurturing side, but that also terrified him. You made him feel safe, and that safety was unsettling. What kind of monster finds comfort in someone so good? You balanced the chaos in him with quiet strength, but that only made his darkest impulses feel more dangerous in comparison. Loving you made him feel seen—and he hated that more than anything.

V drafts messages to you late at night, only to delete them before they’re ever sent. “How are the flowers? The white ones should bloom this week.” He knows you’re better off without him. Still, his thumb hovers over the send button sometimes, just long enough to remind him how easy it would be to drag you back into his world.

He convinces himself that he’s done the right thing. But when he sees you smiling with someone new—someone who fits the life you deserve—it’s like a knife twisting in his chest. His expression doesn’t change, but his hands clench so tightly his knuckles turn white. If he were any less disciplined, he might’ve killed them right there. He tells himself it’s jealousy, but deep down, he knows it’s grief.

The animals he cares for—strays, birds, the creatures that flock to him—pick up on his sadness. A stray cat curls up in his lap, sensing the heaviness in him. He brushes his fingers over its fur absentmindedly, realizing for the first time that animals understand heartbreak better than most people. It’s a strange kind of comfort, but not enough to fill the space you left behind.

On nights when the loneliness becomes unbearable, V sits in the garden under the moonlight, staring at the plants the two of you nurtured together. He tells himself it was inevitable, that he had to let you go. But sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, he wonders if it was all just fear. Fear that you’d unravel him completely. Fear that someone as good as you could never truly love someone like him.

V doesn’t believe in sentimental nonsense. But you were the closest thing he’d ever come to a home. He knows now that even the coldest creatures crave warmth—and he found it in you. But instead of basking in it, he let his fear drive you away. And now, all he can do is live with the knowledge that he traded his one chance at happiness for the hollow comfort of control.

He repeats it like a mantra—It’s better this way. But the words feel empty. As he tends to the plants alone, surrounded by the animals that will never ask the questions he can’t answer, the truth settles in: Losing you wasn’t just painful—it was the kind of mistake you can never undo.

Misaki- The baby

You can tell something is off the second Misaki steps through the window , a familiar grin plastered across their face but… it doesn’t reach her eyes. There’s a weight she’s trying to hide behind that goofy, energetic exterior, but it slips through the cracks—just enough for you to notice.

“Heyyyy! Guess who’s here!” she singsongs, throwing her arms up dramatically, like this is some routine. Like everything is fine.

But you know it isn’t. You can see it in the way their hands fidget with the cuffs of her sleeves, how their gaze darts around the room, never quite landing on you. She’s stalling.

"Misaki," you say gently. "What’s going on?"

She drops onto the couch, kicking off her shoes in that chaotic, carefree way of hers. But the moment she speaks, you hear the tension threading through her voice, coiled tight like a wire ready to snap.

"So," she says with a forced grin, "you ever, uh... just know when something's not working? Like, you’re throwing everything at it—your whole heart, even—and it’s still like... hmmm... maybe this isn’t it." She laughs, but it’s sharp, brittle. “Yeah, so… that’s kinda what I’ve been thinking."

Your heart sinks. “What are you saying?”

She makes finger guns, like this whole thing is a joke. Like it’s not ripping her apart inside. "Ding ding ding! Breakup, baby! You win!" Their voice is too loud, too bright, and it makes your chest hurt because this is Misaki, hiding behind humor like it’s armor.

"Misaki... stop joking. What’s really going on?"

She freezes, and for a second, you catch the flash of something raw in her eyes—panic, maybe. Fear. She rubs at the back of their neck, suddenly looking smaller than usual despite their big personality.

“I mean it,” she says, softer now. "I’ve been thinking... and I don’t think I can do this. I love you. I do. But I don’t think I know how to be with you." their voice cracks on the last word, and she tries to cover it with a shaky laugh.

"I thought maybe if I acted normal, if I kept being goofy, I could pretend it was fine. But it’s not fine, and I can’t keep faking it."

There’s a long silence between you. You search their face, looking for something to latch onto, some way to fix this. But she won’t meet your gaze—just stares at their hands, as if they might hold answers she can’t find.

You want to say something, anything, but before you can, she stands up abruptly, forcing a grin. "Hey, no hard feelings, okay? We had a good run! And honestly, who else would put up with me for this long? You're a saint." She laughs again, but this one sounds more like a sob.

"Misaki—"

"Don’t," she interrupts, holding up a hand. "If you say something sweet, I swear I'll lose it."

You can only watch as she grabs their stuff and heads toward the door, moving too quickly, like she’s afraid she’ll change their mind if she stays a second longer. She pauses with their hand on the doorknob, finally glancing back at you with a crooked, bittersweet smile.

"Take care of yourself, okay? And... eat something that’s not ramen for once, idiot." Her voice wavers, but she gives you one last grin—bright and broken, just like them—and then she’s gone.

Misaki keeps up their bubbly, chaotic energy around others. They crack jokes, flirt, and prank their friends even harder, desperate to keep things light. But the more they joke, the hollower it feels. It’s all performance, and they know it—hoping that if they pretend long enough, the ache in their chest will fade.

At night, when they're finally alone, the mask slips. They lie in bed, scrolling through old texts, hovering over the call button but never pressing it. They stare at photos of the two of you together until their eyes blur with tears. Without anyone to laugh with, their humor shatters, leaving them to drown in silence.

Some nights, they're furious—angry at themself for not making things work, for ruining something good. Other times, they direct the blame toward you in petty ways: If only they tried harder… But beneath it all, Misaki knows the truth—it wasn't anyone's fault. And that truth stings the most. It was theirs...

Misaki starts calling random friends or coworkers during missions—anyone who’ll listen, even if the conversation is meaningless. They just need a familiar voice to fill the silence, laughing too hard at jokes that aren’t even funny. It’s not you, but it’s the closest they can get.

They still cook elaborate meals, even though it’s only for themself. Sometimes, out of habit, they set two plates—only to realize halfway through and shove the extra one back into the cabinet with trembling hands.

The worst moments are when they catch themself about to say something only you would understand—a dumb inside joke, a shared quip. They pause mid-sentence, force an awkward laugh, and change the topic. But every time it happens, it feels like a tiny knife twisting deeper in their chest.

They dive headfirst into anything to keep busy—missions, side hustles, parties. They flirt harder, act sillier, laugh louder. But nothing sticks. The more they try to drown the feelings, the heavier the emptiness becomes.

Even on the brink of falling apart, Misaki will still be the one wiping a friend's tears and giving pep talks. They’ve always been the goofy, reliable one. Showing their hurt feels like admitting defeat, so they bottle it up, letting it fester inside.

When they finally stop moving—standing in the shower or waiting for water to boil—the thoughts creep in. They’ll remember a tiny, stupid detail about you—how you liked your eggs, or the way you hummed that one song—and it breaks them all over again.

They’ve convinced themself that you're better off without them. They’re probably happier now. This is for the best. They repeat it like a mantra, hoping that one day it will feel true. But it never does.

A tiny part of them still hopes you’ll reach out. Every notification makes their heart race, even though they know it’s foolish. And every time it’s not you, it feels like a punch to the gut.

They make light jokes about the breakup to friends, brushing it off like it was nothing. “Ha, relationships are overrated, right?” But if someone lingers too long on the topic, their laugh falters, and they change the subject as quickly as they can.

Misaki acts unbothered—they smile, wave, maybe even throw out a playful joke. But the moment they’re alone, they crumble, staring at their reflection in a window or a mirror and whispering, Why wasn’t I enough?

Misaki keeps telling themself they’ll bounce back—I’ve been through worse. I’ll survive this, too. But deep down, they know that some scars never truly heal. And this one? It’s going to stay with them for a long, long time.

Angel-Heartsick

Angel sits across from you, her usual radiant smile nowhere to be found. Instead, her lips are pressed into a tight line, and she’s nervously tapping her foot—a rare crack in her poised demeanor. You know something is coming, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you like a storm waiting to break.

She takes a deep breath, brushing a hand through her perfectly styled hair. "Okay, listen, this is… really hard for me, but I need to say it." Her voice wavers, not from uncertainty, but from the effort of keeping herself together.

"It’s not you. I swear it’s not. And, ugh, I hate how cliché that sounds," she huffs, forcing out a laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes. "I just… I’ve been thinking, and I feel like I’m dragging you through something you didn’t sign up for. I try to be this fun, easygoing person, but you’ve seen what’s underneath. The spirals. The breakdowns."

Her fingers fiddle with the edge of her sleeve, a nervous tic you rarely see. "I thought I could handle everything. Work, us, my brain… But I can’t. And it’s not fair to you." She pauses, her chest rising with another heavy breath. "You’ve been… amazing, honestly. But I don’t think I know how to be what you need, not when I’m still figuring out how to take care of myself."

Her eyes shimmer, but she fights back the tears, refusing to let them fall. "I thought maybe if I tried harder, if I just kept pushing, we could make it work. But now… now I think I’d only hurt you more in the end."

Her voice breaks slightly as she continues. "I care about you so much. Too much. And that’s why I have to let you go." The words hang in the air, sharp and final, like the snap of a closing door.

She reaches out, briefly touching your hand before pulling away like she can’t bear the contact. "You deserve someone who can be fully present, and I need to be alone for a while. To figure things out, for real this time."

A bitter, self-deprecating smile curls her lips. "Maybe one day, when I’m not such a mess, we can find each other again. But right now? I think we both deserve better than what I can give."

Angel puts on a brave face for her followers and fans, continuing to post her usual cheerful content, but inside, she feels like she’s crumbling. She hides her heartbreak behind edited videos and vibrant filters, desperately trying to convince everyone—and herself—that she’s okay.

When the cameras are off, she often finds herself lying in bed, scrolling through old pictures and messages from you. Late at night, when the world is quiet, the tears come. She stares at the ceiling, feeling the weight of her choices pressing down like a heavy blanket.

Even when surrounded by friends and fans, she feels a profound sense of loneliness. Their laughter and cheers fade into white noise, and all she can think about is how they don’t know the real her—the one who’s struggling, the one who misses you deeply.

Random moments trigger memories of you, whether it’s a song playing in the background or a dish you both loved. Each reminder feels like a fresh wound, slicing through her carefully constructed facade. She’ll smile on the outside, but inside, it feels like everything is unraveling.

Editing videos becomes a bittersweet task. Sometimes she’ll leave in bloopers or comments about you, only to cringe afterward and cut them out. It’s a constant battle between nostalgia and pain, and she often wonders if she’ll ever be able to look at those memories without hurting.

Whenever she starts to spiral into her dark thoughts, it feels like a tidal wave crashing over her. She worries that she’ll never feel “normal” again, and her thoughts race with anxiety, self-doubt, and regrets. On particularly hard days, she feels trapped in her own mind.

Angel throws herself into her work, often taking on extra projects and collaborations to keep her mind occupied. But deep down, she knows it’s a temporary fix; the happiness it brings doesn’t fill the void left by you.

She reaches out to friends more often, craving their presence but feeling guilty for leaning on them too much. Her internal monologue battles with the fear that she’s becoming a burden, and she hides her real feelings to avoid dragging anyone down with her.

“I’m Fine” - The phrase becomes a shield against probing questions, even though she’s anything but fine. When friends ask how she’s doing, she forces a smile and replies, “I’m fine!” but she can feel the cracks in her voice.

Her manic episodes return with a vengeance, and she feels like she’s on a rollercoaster of emotions—sometimes feeling hopeful, other times spiraling into despair. It’s exhausting, and she struggles to keep up with herself.

She finds herself typing out messages to you, only to delete them before hitting send. The urge to reach out is strong, but the fear of rejection and the pain of facing reality keeps her from doing so.

Her dreams are filled with memories of you—happy moments twisted into something bittersweet. She wakes up in the middle of the night, heart racing, clutching her pillow and wishing it were you.

Despite everything, there’s a part of her that clings to the hope that things might change. She often daydreams about a future where she’s healed, where you could be together again, but that hope feels more like a curse than a blessing.

Angel tries to channel her emotions into creative outlets, like painting or journaling. It’s cathartic, but she often finds herself stuck, unable to translate the whirlwind of feelings into words or images.

[spacerockfloater]

Isn’t it tragic irony how Viserys was so consumed by his hope, desire and desperation to be a dreamer that he never realised he sired an actual dreamer?

[whatsthelimitoncharacters]

So, in my opinion, Athena is probably dead. I think that it’s dumb and doesn’t make sense but the listening party animatic definitely implies she’s dead

Here we have some before and after pictures. When I first saw the livestream, I assumed that she was just gonna pass out and that people were overreacting. However, the glow fading really implies that she is in fact dead.

Shortly before the earlier images, we see Athena kind of holding onto life with her glow flickering. We can assume she is almost dead because Ares asks if she’s even alive(I will return to this). All this considered, despite the fact she isn’t glowing in a lot of scenes in this song(such as Odysseus showing her Telemachus), her glow fading really does show that she is probably dead.

If you need some evidence from the songs, we can also get some without looking at the animatics. First and most importantly, Ares asks if Athena is dead. While Ares isn’t the most respected god and many would label him as kind of dumb, he would probably know that gods can’t die if that’s the case. Him asking this does show that a god can, in theory, die. If you want mythological precedence, you can look at how Pan died(I know that there’s a bit of debate to that but idc). Another piece of evidence is actually Calypso saying “Last i checked, goddesses can’t die.” Many people take this as proof that Athena is incapable of death but it’s already been established by major gods that a god/goddess could die and there’s a mythological precedent, so calypso may be lying. In honesty, she isn’t being entirely untruthful in saying that she can’t die. Odysseus is just a half dead mortal king and Zeus is the single most powerful god. Odysseus can’t kill calypso while Zeus could kill Athena. This segues very well into how this line fits into the larger saga. Instead of this line acting as foreshadowing for Athena’s survival, it instead acts as tragic irony for Odysseus. Athena is Odysseus’ only chance at leaving and she dies. The irony comes because Odysseus’ problem could be solved if only a different goddess had died. The wrong goddess died and now it’s up to Zeus to decide whether Odysseus should be set free.

Now, if I’m correct, then I have a lot of feelings about this. If I’m wrong I have slightly less. If I’m right, you can see my previous post for a lot of my reasons why I think athena dying is a bad decision, but I’ll give one here. Gods don’t die. Pan is the only death I can think of (not counting stuff like Helios disappearing over time) and the phrasing of pans death could also be interpreted as the cult of Tammuz praising him for his one myth. Even characters that are treated as mortal like Medea (both her parents are minor gods so she probably should be too) don’t get myths where they die. Medea just runs off to a far away land. Kronos is sliced to bits. Typhon is sealed under Mount Etna. Kronos’ children are swallowed whole. ATHENA’S MOTHER GAVE BIRTH IN ZEUS’ HEAD. IT DOESNT MAKE SENSE THAT ATHENA COULD DIE. If she isn’t dead, why is the animatic like that? Jorge had to have commissioned it. I doubt the animator would have added that in on their own. Why would it be framed so much like she’s dead if she wasn’t.

[sapphicthunderhead]

TMAGP 21 Spoilers Ahead!

Right out the gate we get yet more confirmation that Sam is trying his best to do the right thing, but that his curiosity is a substantially greater motivating factor behind his actions than either his self-preservation instincts (which may be nonexistent) or his moral principles. This is positively fascinating characterization.

Also, this episode really uses setting to help establish tone in a much subtler manner than a lot of podcasts, which require the characters describe to the setting verbally (Penumbra, Sherlock & Co., Malevolent). Of course, I don’t think it’s quite on the level of setting-through-sound-design that The Silt Verses pulls off, but environmental storytelling isn’t as necessary to the plot and world-building in TMAGP as it is in TSV, so that’s not necessarily a criticism.

Celia cracks me up with her talk of “complicated immigration status.” Every scene featuring Celia is heavy on Dramatic Irony from the perspective of we who Know (have listened to TMA) and bring an element of mystery to the plot for any and all audience members, be they in the Know or not— just a little bit less for the former. Reminds me of the early days of TMA in the way. Jonny does a great job of introducing a mystery element seamlessly into all his horror fiction, and I think the two complement one another perfectly. For another example of this, see his book 13 Storeys (it is spelled that way deliberately). I highly recommend the audiobook on Audible.

(Did anyone else subconsciously assume Jack was some sort of sinister Fear receptacle before this episode? Celia seems genuinely emotionally attached to him, so I’m a little less concerned now.)

On to the statement itself: FUCKING MAGNIFICENT. I am positively infatuated with this one. So much suspense! So much information, such a beautiful bit of storytelling, and yet NO ANSWERS! I am dying for an explanation here, in the best way possible— because I also found myself perfectly content to just enjoy the events unfolding while I was listening.

I really felt that the authorial tone and style Jonny used for this character, Mr. Kennings, harkened back to one of the major inspirations for TMA: the ghost stories of M.R. James, one of my favorite horror authors (alongside Shirley Jackson). I first read his collected works after Jonny mentioned him in a Q&A, and I was hooked; I have since re-read his work a couple of times.

But it wasn’t just the style of this episode I enjoyed. The substance was also very satisfying. I find the idea of the scholars and administrators of the Institute bickering like petty children whilst using their most formal jargon, attempting to conceal their contempt for one another behind a flimsy facade of civility, incredibly amusing. I also found Kennings’ jabs at the British monarchy and his concern about soil toxicity and its effect on the laborers and foremen at the construction site allowed me to follow his perspective somewhat sympathetically— although I was horrified when he did nothing to assist the poor man whose decrepit old doppelgänger emerged from the earthen wall of the ditch to drag him underground. But I should have expected it. Kennings worked for the Magnus Institute, after all.

As an aside, this tragic event could have a couple of possible symbolic meanings. The description of the haggard elderly counterpart of the younger construction worker, who drags himself out of a wall of dirt that Mr. Kennings specifies exhibits “tell-tale indications of heavy metals in the earthen edges of it,” evokes the idea of a young man confronting what his life looks like if he continues to sacrifice his health and safety to this dangerous line of work. It could also be the reverse: the old man killing a younger version of himself who made poor choices (because he had so few choices or none at all, because he had to support himself or a family, who knows?) that would otherwise have killed him slowly and perhaps agonizingly, the toxic gas seeping out of the soil and into his lungs and blood. By the end of the statement, I was surprised that the writers had titled the statement “Breaking Ground” instead of “Poisoned” or something along those lines.

Alice trying to protect Sam from the scary little men in the computer was very amusing. Silly Alice, he serves the plot now! There’s nothing you can do to stop him, my dear! Mwahahahaha!

Lena Kelley being worried about Gwen wasn’t entirely unexpected, but does further emphasize the contrast between her and Jonah-Elias. Still unclear whether Lena is a cog in the Fear machine or is actually doing anything to protect humanity, but she clearly thinks she’s doing the latter. Can’t wait for her disillusionment arc, epiphany, and/or moment of self-awareness.

Then we have Gwen, Ink5oul, and…. What the fuck is that. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck? That can’t be Jon. Another Archivist? Gertrude? Doesn’t sound like it. Who? What? Definitely an extension of the Eye, but the voice is unfamiliar.

Returning to the subject of Kennings’ statement: this series continues to emphasize that there are no clear delineations between Fears. Doppelgänger? Stranger. Dirt? Buried. Pollution? Extinction. All of the above? It’s just fear. That’s all that matters.

[anewstartrekfan]

Reading an old Star Trek book and to my surprise Jim Kirk has always had Daddy issues

So the only Star Trek book I’ve read was the one explaining how the tribbles episode was made and the aftermath, so trying to read Enterprise (1986) with some basic knowledge of trek post 2009 is fascinating. Cuz you see where the breadcrumbs of some of the characterization and even backstory come from.

In chapter 2, Sam Kirk and Kirk’s mom show up to Kirk’s ceremony where he takes command of the enterprise. They talk about George Kirk Sr. being in Starfleet, (he’s dead here too) something that I don’t think was in any of the episodes or movies. And how he was always distant and away. And they’re clearly going for some parallels/dramatic irony with the Wrath of Khan when it comes to Kirk not believing he could’ve developed a relationship with his father as an adult. And it plays into the tragic aspect I love about Kirk.

Upon reflection he’s happy that Carol rejected him (he proposed to her in chapter 1) because he doesn’t want to leave anyone behind while on the job, only returning for sparse visits the way his father did. But at the same time, Jim craves companionship. And he can’t get it in his current job because as captain, it is not ethical for him to date anyone else on the Enterprise.

Anyway the long and short is if we take this book into account, Kirk has always had daddy issues. It’s just in TOS EU it was abandonment issues whereas in 2009 it was dad sacrificed himself so high expectations issues.

The little details like the mom’s name getting carried over into the aos movies are a good touch, but then seeing George Kirk being a Starfleet officer actually get incorporated into the 2009 movie as an important plot point, and then also using his absence in Kirk’s life but just in a different way as part of Kirk’s backstory is so cool to me.

A difference though is unlike fanfic tropes, Winona is actually a good mom and wants Jim to succeed in his career where his father failed in his Starfleet career. Unfortunately though Jim appears to be falling into the same pitfalls. As in lack of communication and unwillingness to play workplace politics.

That last burn from Winona tho… like damn girl I felt that.

Another thing I want to backtrack to, Sam Kirk. Sam being the alleged chosen child, the one that was supposed to follow in George Kirk’s footsteps but didn’t, and then Jim strolled in and did even more than what Sam was supposed to do, and Sam and George never reconciled. Like dudes this book is almost 40 years old and this stuff was in strange new worlds last year. Tho xenobiology appears to have morphed into xenoanthropology (tho according to the fan wiki he’s still a biologist so idk what the deal is)

For the record Sam’s characterization isn’t remotely the same here. Likely the choice to keep him out of Starfleet all together removed any sort of resentment of Jim potential like he has in SNW. There’s still tension though, as Sam tries to force Jim to confront why he’s reacting like this to his first mission for the enterprise being an escort job for a flying horse.

Shifting gears back to Jim needing to learn how to play workplace politics. The assumed reason for Pike leaving the enterprise. While SNW is doing the whole, Pike knows he won’t fly the enterprise forever and about the disfigurement and is cool with it, I find if fascinating that he’s more, sad about it here and that he got promoted out of the way for pushing too many buttons. It would be a sad ending but I wonder if SNW would incorporate that into its eventual ending. Hell I wonder if that’s what happened to Kirk between TOS and TMP.

Anyway big picture is this book is a fascinating time capsule and it’s fun seeing just how much has stuck around over the years both in fandom and in the franchise itself. Whether or not that’s the book’s doing is questionable but still. Fun to think about.

[hayleysayshay]

I’m going to defend The Captain and his closeted nature and that it never really gives way to a storyline where he’s openly gay and happy with that.

Ben Willbond based the character on growing up around army types during his childhood. I imagine he knew and met people who fought in WWII and had the mannerisms of the Captain. It feels very accurate to a certain type of person who was very real. It’s a pointed portrayal, and yes comically exaggerated to a point but perhaps not as much as we would think, because people really do be like the Captain sometimes.

The Captain was never able to live life as an openly gay man whilst alive. That carries with him. But he does find some peace with the fact that he’s gay and is able to live openly with a bunch of complete weirdos who do accept him for who he is. In death, he finds acceptance and life. The irony is part of the joke. Comedy and Tragedy often go hand in hand, and perhaps the Captain finding a level of acceptance in death is both the cruelest and funniest joke of them all.

We don’t get the Captain living openly gay, but maybe he won’t ever get that. But what we do see does mean something, it’s growth for both him and his companions and there’s beauty in that. It’s subtle and nuanced and often quite sad, and often funny.

This isn’t a knock on anyone wanting more from the Captain. But I sometimes feel people don’t appreciate the story actually being told in the show in favour of ‘I want warm and fuzzy feels’. I can be critical of the show’s use of bittersweet moments (I’m still not a fan of the finale, though I do respect it in theory in practice I thought it was meh). But I think in comparison to Isaac from the CBS version, comparing the two feels like apples and oranges because they’re not even that similar in function of the show and style of comedy. (CBS Ghost’s ‘Captain’ is more absurd and whacky as a character imo). This isn’t a knock against the CBS version, but I do think the more tragic nature of the Captain in the BBC version shouldn’t be knocked because it’s sadder; I think it should be embraced when we talk about comedy.

[elliebyrrdwrites]

The Marriage Law Trope:

It doesn’t even matter what kind of person you are. Good, bad, total fucking wack-job? You could be a fucking Saint and it wouldn’t matter. Because the world is made and it is ruled by a few. Just a handful of people who decide what we do. They decide what the rules are and we just fucking follow them.

Because all we are, to them, are sheep. Sheep that are soldiers who give up everything for their gain. Not our own. They gain more money and more power and we die. Eventually, we just die, all broken and battered. Often, we die tragically.

It’s all by design. We are like a cancer, growing and growing. We are metastasizing into something that cannot be stopped. So, the powers that be, they take us and give us a purpose. The purpose, it serves them and them alone.

Because people breed like fucking mice. We fuck and fuck and pop out little clones of ourselves programmed to do the same fucking thing. So, the little handful of powerful people take advantage of it. And we just keep going, fucking and surviving. We migrate and fuck other races and we evolve. We grow accustomed to the climate changes, the ecological conditions that seem ever changing.

At least, that is the way it’s supposed to happen. Survival of the fittest, right?

But the funny thing is, wizarding kind isn’t like people.

We’re special. We have magic and we can cure illness and create potions that regenerate our organs and our bones. We rarely get sick. But when we do, it’s devastating. And, we’re worse than pandas. Because we fuck and we fuck, often by force, and we still cannot produce enough offspring to give our kind any hope of survival. Because we’re not the fittest. Despite all of the blood purity garbage, we are not supposed to be here.

I’m not supposed to be here.

And the point is, that no matter how hard my father tries, he is not one of those few powerful men. Because it took three years for Shaklebot to start losing pull after the war ended. Three years for him to start losing popularity amongst the rich and greedy. Three years for him to cave into the roll of every other minister before him. A puppet. Which is what my father wants me to become. Which is why all of this is fucking beautiful and sick.

And the sick fucks can see that our kind is at risk for becoming endangered. Soon, if we don’t migrate and acclimatize to a new environment, we will die off. We will become extinct. We we ill be exterminated by our own bigotry.

Oh, the irony.

And the point is, I am not attracted to my fiancé. It has nothing to do with how frail and sickly she is. I’ve never liked her. Not before our fathers signed a contract promising us to each other, not before and not a second after.

When your libido drops, you do things that help you feel like a man. Because I can’t fuck my fiancé and that is embarrassing. So, I work out. I run every day, sometimes for hours. I visit old classmates and we get drunk and we fight. sometimes with each other, sometimes with others. It took three years for her to come down with some rare blood illness. And the point is, the night before I was supposed to walk down the aisle and marry Astoria Greengrass, a decree came down from the minister himself, stopping me from my impending doom.

The point is, the ministry decided that it was time to stop fucking our cousins and began to turn to muggle born witches for breeding. We must marry half bloods and mudbloods in order to save Wizarding Kind. We must fuck them, fill them with our seed and produce heirs who will, eventually, taut their blood status. Because, in a handful of years, twenty or thirty, the law will be revoked and then the heirs of the sacred twenty eight wont know that their blood is tainted by mud. They will be able to stick their fucking noses in the air and start the cycle all over again.

Like I said, survival of the fittest, right?

And I don’t belong here because right now, there’s a solicitor standing in our foyer, breaking the news to me and to my parents. they’re breaking the news to Astoria and to her parents.

She is too sick and, essentially, useless. They need to grow the population. They need to create new alleles that will be passed down and down and ensure that we survive.

I’m lounging on the settee and I’m watching the solicitor rub at the back of his neck as he attempts to tell the Malfoy’s and the Greengrasses why they cannot go through with the wedding that has been planned for the past three years.

“James,” My father calls the man by his name because he knows him. James was one of those men who used to bustle in and out of my fathers studies. He was supposed to accept his bribes and push my fathers agenda. My fathers agenda was power for the Malfoy name.

But a couple of weeks ago, the man stopped stopping by. Things were getting tense. Because there had been a decision that didn’t involve my father and his money.

“You’re expecting us to cancel a wedding that has cost us a small fortune, and all for what?”

“It’s a direct order from the minister, himself, Lucius.” James is rolling and rolling the parchment with the declaration that mine and Astoria’s nuptials would be unlawful. Because as of midnight tonight, the law will be passed. And just as my father chose and sold me off to the highest bidder within the pureblood circle, the minister has ordered me to do the same. But not to Astoria. No, the minister has had his finest men and women put their heads together and come up with some sort of formula that has decided who would work best with my magic, and be more willing to accept my see.

“Can we at least, petition for a half breed?” My mother asks and everyone’s eyes dart to her. Astoria is pale as ever, terrified of what her future may bring. She doesn’t know if she will be paired with some mudblood wizard, or if she will be deemed to sickly to be sold off. Too weak to enslave.

“Isn’t it better than a mudblood?” Mother says to father, who purses his lip and lifts his eyebrows in assent before we all look back at James for a response.

“I’m afraid the matches will be non-negotiable.”

“That’s absurd!” My father growls.

“Well, at least your money won’t be a total waste. There can still be a wedding.” James gestures to the flowers filling the foyer. White flowers fill the entire manor. Spilling into the halls and out into the gardens, where the ceremony was to be held.

“Who is it, then?” I finally ask, before taking another sip of my drink. The thing is, I’m barely present. I know what’s going on, but it’s like the volume on the world is turned down and there’s a blanket thrown over the speaker, muffling all of the noise and my movements feel heavy. Like I am trudging through mud deep under the sea.

“Most wont know their matches until tomorrow afternoon.”

Most are not Malfoy’s. They are not wealthy and semi-powerful.

“But, I did manage to look at yours,” He nods to me before his eyes shift, uneasily, toward my father.

The name falls from James lips and something incredible happens. My father’s face turns a shade of red, speckled with green bits around and just under his eyes. His lips pale out, turning almost white instead of pink. Because, James has just said the name of a witch I hadn’t seen or heard from in at least three years. The name of a witch I hadn’t even recalled for the past three years.

I can't decide if this name being thrown onto me like a cold cup of water is a miracle or a my impending doom.

Hermione Granger.

Granger probably wants to cry. No, worse. She probably wants to rage. She probably wanted to tear down the walls of a world that had betrayed her. Over and over again, she was betrayed. She probably felt skinned alive and abandoned. Maybe she wasn’t enough, because she was a mudblood. She was a hero. She was too much, because she was insatiably hungry for knowledge. She was their only hope, because she was a muggle born.

Because she was a muggle born, they needed to take her and use her. She was to be caged and used like an animal. Nothing more than a mare meant for breeding.

And she had no say in the matter. They probably waxed and tweezed and groomed her until her cheeks were red and the skin between her thighs stung. 

She was probably being thanked for her bravery. Praised for her contribution to the good of wizarding kind.

But, really, they were dooming her. They hadn’t even given her a choice. The ministry had decided her fate that had been calculated by people who didn’t even know her.

She knew things had changed, and that things had become dark again. Because she was smart. Granger was the brightest witch of our age.

But this. 

This was pure evil. Granger probably felt like she had been plucked right out of her life and inserted into the middle of a dystopian future where Voldemort had won and the pure bloods ruled. 

And in a way, we did. Because we still hold the vast majority of the riches. They still held the most garner and control of the Wizengamot. 

Perhaps she had been naïve and ignorantly secured in her little bubble. Perhaps her and her two puppy dogs had failed to realize that the real war was not held on battlefields. It was inside of the dark, smoky studies of pureblood wizards. 

And they had won.

But this wasn’t about war. This was for the good of Wizarding kind, they probably told her. They probably told her that she really was the golden girl, savior of the world!

Because she will be cornered by ministry officials and order her to pack her things. They will order her to answer a summons from the minister himself. Because she was going to be forced to marry someone she hated. Someone she had not seen in three years and when she last saw him, was probably terrible to her. Because I am that kind of a wizard. I am my fathers son. I am a good little asshole. I say terrible things to wonderful people and I never think of them again.

And the point is, that is a lie.

Because I have thought about Granger. Nearly every morning, I wake up with the memory of a dream that gets leaves me with a painful erection. Every night, I blink and drift off into lucid dreams that borderline on erotic. Sometimes they are pointless. None of them ever make sense.

Because I’m a prisoner and prisoners tend to hold onto the little things from their past. Little moments that keep them going. That allow them to survive in conditions meant to break them. And I am. I’m broken and dirty and terrible.

I’m everything my father wants me to be.

Except that in my mind, there is Granger and her big sunset eyes. Her sunset eyes are golden brown and they shine on me from across the space of the school library. It’s not even a moment, it’s a snippet of a moment that meant nothing. Nothing at all, except that they are warm eyes and when I sit in my cold, frigid cell, I use it. I use the memory of the warmth and bask in it.

I’ve learned how to Occlude. Dodd insisted, actually. Told me to build my walls and compartmentalize all of my anxiety and stuff it into some sort of a box inside of my head and lock it away. But with this new ability, I found that there is this little nugget of gold just laying there.

Granger, sitting across the library, studying and I’m just watching her. Waiting. For what, I can’t tell. I don’t know. But when she looks at me, her eyes are all bright and warm and her lips lift in a little smile and then I’m finding the memory to be special, precious even. And it doesn’t make sense, because I’m a Malfoy and she is a mudblood and I hate her.

Always have, and always will.

The point is, she doesn’t belong here. She doesn’t belong in my world and she doesn't belong in my head. Still, I wonder what she looks like these days. I heard that she was going to school, again. What a novelty. Hermione Granger couldn’t stop studying. She couldn’t stop getting praises for her high marks and the fucking genius that she was.

But those are thoughts that only come to me when I’m gone, drifting high above the earth while I dream.

And when I’m awake, I don’t think of her. I think of nothing.

Because that’s what I am.

I am nothing. Because I do not belong here. This world is for mere men and I am something more, something ancient and tired. Life is tedious and boring.

And Granger is probably in the ministers office right now, screaming her argument until she’s blue in the face. She’s probably trembling at the idea of becoming the former Death Eaters little wife. Forced to let him fuck her as he pleased. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.

The realization of a pink faced, bright eyed Granger causes a bit of a stir somewhere deep inside of my guts. It’s warm and prickly all at once. It feels like waking up in the morning with a full nights rest only to find yourself in the middle of a barren cell with no heat clinging to the cold stone walls.

Trust me, I know.

[bleue-flora]

Well in light of @elmhat’s post [here]. I started thinking even further, specifically about the name of the prison - Pandora’s Vault, no doubt named after the infamous Pandora’s Box, which in mythology is described as containing, All the Troubles of the World that could never be recaptured after being opened. The name certainly only further adding to this image of Dream being this boundless inhuman evil. Of course, Sam wasn’t going to see Dream as human, they put him in the main cell of Pandora’s Vault. As the only prisoner he became the embodiment of all the troubles and woes of humanity, a larger than life evil that Sam had sole responsibly to keep contained in the box. Which wow that’d be a pretty big task for anyone to be fair…

And if that isn’t a big enough job, the second part of the prison’s name is Vault - a secure place to store valuables. In this case the Revival Book, the ultimate valuable, the key to life once life has been taken, a book made all the more important by Tubbo’s almost recent death. Furthermore, a vault is also a place used for burials, which is fitting because in many ways this is Dream’s tomb, his sentence for life. Like a dead body, it is Sam’s job to strip him of all his valuables and lay him to rest. Quite the responsibility I’d say for poor Sam, to be in charge of containing evil incarnate, stripping it of its power and killing if once and for all…

And the irony as Dream points out in Daedalus:

“You put me in a box. And you made me very angry. I was tortured, I was betrayed, I was lied to and each and every person that has done these things to me is now going to face my wrath. And guess what? You released me—into the world, releasing evil and hate and anger. It’s pretty, you know, pretty parallel. Funnily enough.”

is that Dream never was the embodiment of evil. War still happened, people still died while he was contained. But in the end, Pandora’s Vault still lived up to its name just not in the way Sam thought it did…

As an aside, apparently in the myth Pandora shut the box before Hope could escape and I think there’s also something tragically beautiful about that parallel because in many ways, I think Dream’s hope lived and died in Pandora’s Vault…

[sepublic]

There's a lot of fun to be had with layered characters that are deeper than they seem, but I think there's a poetic irony/beauty to characters that are the opposite; Characters who seem so much more out-there, intimidating, mysterious, etc., but then when you peel back the mask, you realize they're actually quite simple, in some cases banal in a compelling way. A sort of "Man behind the machine" moment, the simplicity isn’t a contradiction either, and can add a lot of nuance in a surprising way.

Take for example Tai Lung, who on the surface is a deeply terrifying and lethal villain, with a tragic element... But by the time he's climbing out of a himself-shaped hole, the viewer realizes he's pathetically obvious: An entitled man-child who couldn't take no for an answer, a toxic and edgy try-hard. And that pairs well with a protagonist like Po, whom everyone dismisses as just some ineffectual, comical panda, but it turns out he's a lot deeper than that!!!